(sigh)....shit!

And so the final day of my time on the farm had arrived. It was a cool fog covered morning in May, and the market was bustling in Rouffignac, but the coffee I had earlier that morning was strong, and well...something had to be done. Don't cringe yet, I promise nothing graphic, but as you can imagine my first thought was, 'I will find a bathroom around here somewhere and all will be well with the world.' However, when I did find the WC as it were, I was puzzled when I discovered this strange device in the room where a seat should be. Is this a joke, some kind of inititation to the farmers life? I had no idea but let me tell you I was not even sure if I was in the right place, so I checked the other stalls and there were urinals. 'Hmmm! Nothing strange there,' I assured myself. So I walked back to the other side. SHIT!!! And so I began to think, all the while my bowels turning knots and my patience withering by the minute. Here I was, standing in kimbo staring at a hole in the ground. I took a closer look, and found there were little foot sized parts just about hip distance apart in the front of the hole. Could they be serious? Where am I supposed to sit? Looking at the walls I saw no handle-bars, no notching to get a grip, nothing!!!!! And so, with years of athletics behind me, no pun intended, I figured I could squat for a few minutes without having too much trouble.


Let me tell you that it was not my legs I was worring about, not directly at least. The pants dropped and things began as usual except there was nothing to support me if I made that tragic fall. And so with one eye on the bullseye, things began to happen, and they happened fast. Too fast, and I found my knees getting weak, each movent of this odorous opus was taking more and more out of me, finally I had to resort to attempting to stick my hands to the walls. Everytime I thought it was over, I was too wrong, and because of the morning dew (seriously not trying to make this many puns) the walls were slick with condensation causing my position to slip ever so slowly and painfully southward towards the awful pit of despair to my rear! And so in a last ditch effort, I thrust my arms around the toilet paper holder, and with my shoulder dug into the right wall, balanced for the final notes. A sigh of relief came over me, finally, the dennemont come and I was prepared for a relaxing finish. I reached for the paper, and it felt light. Too light, and sure enough, with a soft tug, the remaining 5 squares fell limp in my grip. I was battered but not beaten, and so naked from the waist and with jeans wrapped neatly around my ankles, I waddled to the next stall and shut the door. Using my jeans as an anchor? i held the bunched up bit in between my feet as a saftey robe and called my self on-belay to begin clean-up.

It was an awful and jarring experience, I was wiped out and my thighs were burning. I used to think the french were just snotty, but now I know, its contempt they hold for us, those who shit sitting down.

Leaving Perigueux and part of myself behind

I have to say that this past week has changed something in me. I know my last post was somewhat preachy and if nothing more, overcharged with idealistic ideology. But its hard not to want to take the time to see the way life was and continues to be in the rural parts of the world. I can't say it was all moments of bliss and ecstasy, I managed to mess up a few times, and even learn a little french. There were moments of frustration and aggony which accompanies inability to communicate. But then again, people who speak the same language have the same crux to consider in their native lands. The week was, in a word, Funidmental. It taught me a lot about myself, and where the boundries lie for me, between satisfaction and overcoming insecurities. To get a little serious for moment, I promise laughs before this post is through, for me the line grew clear between working to impress and working at my best. The results are fractions apart, nearly the same, but the mental reservations that can overcome ones mind in a state of thrusting movements motivated by pure insecurity and desire to show one's prowess can only be construed as immature. I will not argue with the need to impress others. However I regard the act of impression just for the sake of impression leaves nothing more then a footprint in the sand. A momentary figure of what strength and presure one can exude, and yet nothing can prevent the great force of the ocean from obliterating the object which so proudly defined its owner. I learned of myself, and beneath the great wide open skyscape of Southwestern France, I found that the clouds and the sun, cared little for those it covered, and the land neither toiled nor spoke out to whose hands tended its bussom. Nature will not speak back, and shout and exclaim its dissatisfaction with those who work with and without it. Paul and Genevive Jacques, my hosts both lived alternate lives before they entered into the country for a live with the land. But Paul especially showed no real expression, save for his eyes; which both blue and bold gesticulated to even his smallest emotion. It was in his eyes that I saw my futility and my weakness. I hold no contempt for Mouissuer Jacques' eyes, because it was by his land that I found myself alone, in a field with sky above, earth below and the labor of my two very own hands giving opportunity to new life on the farm. It was an experience that has changed me and gave me the chance to witness the difference between the self I habitutally exude, and the one which lies within me. The one that has belonged to my father, and their fathers before them. If you want to find out just who you are in this life, then make something before you take something. Deal with the responsibility of overseeing something from seedling to harvest, and the decisions you make to kill, feed, and sell that life will reflect greatly in the reflection of the self you wish to be.

Oui-uh Oui-uh...non!

Ah the life of a french farmer, not really a terrible thing if you ask me. How would I know, you ask? Oh well I've been spênding the past week on a farm in France, (click here to see the farm) and its been amazing. I have alwaysz been the kind of person to enjoy getting my hands dirty, maybe thats why I love to paint and cook. Now of course you can add farming to that list. Its been wonderfuly impossible to find words to describe all the beauty that still exists in this really huge world. When I have visited Montana or Wyoming, I have seen the big skies that have called to the endless hearts and souls of cowboys and cowgirls with their endless tracks of clouds, but yet, there is something petite about their grandure, because you know that just down the road is a Mcdonalds or a KMART. It is hard to say whether those same cowboys who've spent their lives dedicated to the ways of a harmonious existance close to the ground would be proud of those commercial ventures that are taking up so much of their precious land. However, that is the cost of living in a country such as ours, with its wonders come tradjeties (spelled wrong. The same thing is happening here in France and the Roman holiday/La Vie en Rose sort of life I was expecting to find has now been replaced with Would You Date My Mom dubbed over in French, and the Le M. Its funny too because the French are so proud of their culture, but its kinda hard, I think, to declare originality when your skin tight jeans are sagging down to your knees and your emo-haircut is slowly drooping to one side of your face. With a baguette in one hand and a Mcdonalds shake in the other, its a confusing time for everyone thats for sure. BUT ENOUGH of complaining there is plenty of beauty to go around, and spending time on a farm is something I would recommend to everyone who is in search of a little more then just a typical vacation.

I have been picking, and ho-ing (not that kind) and fishing in lakes boiling with trout, (see picture below of the trout I cooked and caught!) But its a choice of a lifetime, I think, I can say that a certain amount of sentiment has crawled its way into my synical and sarcastic brain. Because to look up from your mower or spade or other sort and see the clouds of southwestern france floating over head, it is hard to long for civilization. The life is simple here, there is no capitalism. For 4 euros you can buy yourself a KILO of white aspargus as thick as your wrist, and they only charge what they need! Needless to say the whole experience has changed me for the better I think, making me more aware of my surroundings and to be more careful of how I think of my food and from where it comes!


I will update this again soon, I love you all.

Bon Journee

*To Note

(those are sandy feet people, i did not start growing fur)
I apologize, but their will be gaps in this blog. I am not interested, as I am sure you can imagine, in spending the better part of a day in a computer cafe. So understand please, my friends that there will be a story told, it will just be in pieces; Use your imagination a bit, I have sent all of you post cards. So those should clear up some stuff, enjoy your weekend everyone.


**also if you are reading these posts and you see Z's where you should see W's, its just these cursed keyboards, so replace those.

Catching Up with Everyone

Part II. MEETING NEW PEOPLE
*(I will not have pictures to accompany this post and most likely the next post, there are roughly 400 pictures on my ipod that I will not be able to upload until after I return. I will offer you the best that I can in literary illustrations)


And so as lunch ended, Alexandre had to return to work and Nathalie offered to show me around town a little bit before she had to return to work. As we walked through the beautiful cobblestone streets amongst the limestone facades that reflected every ounce of sunlight that touched it, Nathalie explained to me that the government of France has required that small towns like this which have traditional limestone facades comme ça, are required by law to clean them to their original cleanliness. I will have the pictures for you as soon as I return; but the city was the most futuristic Ive ever seen. But seriuosly, they have made such an attempt to fortify their history with laws that they have even installed a tram way, which makes no sound, (personally I think it floats) and looks totally awesome. ...Wait here is a picture. So you see this beautiful thing comming towards you and I swear I almost got run down I was just staring at it sort of saying, 'its soooo preeettyyy' before I realized that the driver was french, and thus wouldn't be stopping for any pedestrians anytime soon. Thankfully he was on tracks. Cars had been limited to side streets and for routes leading in and out of town, but other than that it was covered with these trams and buses. We walked through what is known in France as the Artisan part of town, basically the zone of kitch and local decor. When my mother reads this, she should note, that interior design is huge in this part of France. Unfortunatley, its all French country style, go figure!

So walking through the streets, the sun tries to hide behind the 2 and 3 storie homes but always leaves a little beam behind and its hard not to want to plant your flag as you stand their and just live the rest of your life waiting for the next shadow to cross the street. Truly beautiful. So we stopped by Nathalie's office, which was beautifuly laid out in a 200 year old building with french windows (they're just called windows in france) and soft sanded planked floors and glass desks; just three in the flat each with a chair and a mac. Trés cool! She brought me to the center of the town and showed me a cathedral zith a tower that had a viez of the entire city, so for 3 euro I took another trip the stairs. (When I was in Paris I walked up the 700 steps of the Eiffel Tower and took pictures, you can find those pictures, which are not completly loaded on flickr in 'PARIS pt. DUH' towards the end) the steps were once again smalls and extremely high for steps, maybe a foot and half between each step. I know that doesn't seem like much but after 250 steps, everyone gets a little tired. So finally I made it through the mouse hole they had managed to carve out of the top of the stairway which I had to remove my day bag, jacket to fit through. But the view was amazing and though I can navagate the city like Jason Bourne where I just look at the map and the bench across from me and I know zhere I am, the breeze was amazing, the clouds breathtaking, and I had a nice little moment by myself.

I made it down the stairs and across the village just to explore. I was to meet Nathalie at the train station across from the river at 7 so I took that time to walk around and see the village. I made my way through the Grand Theatre plaza, and over towards this huge fountain in the middle of the town. There are two actually one on either side of a larger obilisqe. One is dedicated to the philosopher and former Mayor of Bordeaux Michel de Montaigne. The other one is dedicated to Charles Louis de Montesquieu, one of the architects of the "century of the lights". He was not only an intellectual, but also a winegrower, which of course goes hand in hand with spending time in the region, there must be wine consumed. Directly besdie the fountain there is a large flea market housing not only the best in French artifacts from the past century, but also there is food. They make these doughnuts the size of my head seriously filled with none other than nutella. So of course I had one, which I almost couldn't finish. Seriously, I can eat, but that thing was huge. Of course I had a local proveyers jambon and rilletes sandwich before that. I also grabbed a bottle of some local Bordeaux superior, for 5 euro and headed to the Jardin de Public (thats the Public Garden) and consumed myself solid quarter of a cup of nutella before falling asleep in the grass. I woke up and met Nathalie at the agreed upon stop and found that she and Alex lived right around the courner, and more importantly she had a dog. I tough and rough little dog with no personality...(not true!) The dog was called Meg; a little springer spanial, pictures of which I have on my ipod and have not been able to get to an apple which when I do I will be able to download, but trust me she is gorgeous. With long eyelashes, and a big floppy ears and a coat almost chestnut brown, her skin too big for her aging body that she often times needs a good roll on the floor to get the kinks out. I followed Nathalie and Meg up the stairs of their building to find that the inside of the building was a remarkable limestone cave, that nathalie explained was once used as a cellar for Porto. Alex and Nathalie had to go out to dinner that night, so I was on my own and was fine with that because I wanted to explore a little bit.

I found my journal and hat and made a tour of the town only stopping for a little bite to eat at a local taven. Nothing wonderful to report other than the fact that I had the first good nights sleep in a while.

The Next day was May the fisrt and what is called Fete de Traville and the custom is to give everyone these little white bell shaped flours called Muguet Because there was not work, Alexandre, Nathalie and Meg had agreed to take me along with some of their friends one of which spoke perfect English, to St. Emilion. Aparently, they grow wine there?! We made good time to Brita and Christoph's house, just on the outskirts of town, where we exchanged pleasantries, but Brita and Christoph had found a little spot, which I have pictures of, and had carved out a little love nest and their happiness was clear and present. It was so lovely to be surrounded by such lovely people on such a perfect afternoon. We made haste to get to St. Emilion, and before I could say anything, the garge door was opened to reveal this little beauty, apartently a gift from Brita's father. Her name was Guilia. She was loud as shit and no radio, but I can tell you it didn't matter. The sun was out and we made a day out of eating and drinking. I did not take pictures of my food on this day only because it didnt last long enough. I was hungry. We walked around the old wine village and Alex and I even found an old abandoned wine cellar deep underground, which is along with the other pictures from that day on my ipod. But the weather could not have been better and after that day at the vineyards we all headed back to Britas and Christoph's and while we sat by the pool the afternoon slowly walked towards the horizon into dusk and we decided to stay for dinner. I asked if I could make dinner, and everyone was kind enough to oblige my musings and after an hour or two and a couple of drinks later we were all eating. I decided to make a cassoulette with tomatos, mushrooms, white asparagus, onions, some cream, and goat cheese. The oil I used was so spicy that I had to, (had to mind you) crack an egg over the top before it came out of the oven to add a little more texture. That was accompaning, some grilled pork shoulder, and a couple of duck breasts. All well and good, and the wine Christoph selected from his own cellar which was absolutly fantastic. I donùt remember if I took pictures of them, but I will update all stories as soon as I return to the states. The evening ended in great conversation, more wine and another great night of sleep for yours truly.

The following day was for me to prepare for the next part of the journey. Which you will all get to hear about later this week. I have been sitting at this terminal for a few hours now and need a little sunshine. I will leave you with this for next week's post. I have been spending the last couple of days in Biaritz surfing with some new friends, but this is what it looked like last night as we caught the tide on the way out. Think Keanu Reaves and Point Break

Back to Report

A lot has happened since my last message to all of you and I know that you've been waiting patiently, so let me lay it down.

1. Leaving Paris
I packed up my bags from where I was staying with Matthiew in Les Halles and took the tube to Montparnasse station to grab the 4pm TGV (french for Ludicrus Speed Train) and make my approach into the countryside of France for the first time. The first thing that I can tell you is that the train was beautiful, like the Accela but with an accent. I took my seat and we were off within minutes we had reached warp 5 and I was beginning to get dizzy looking out the window ( just kidding) but the speed of the train does something wonderful and terrible at the same time. Because you are moving at such a terribly fast rate, the gorgeous world outside the double-pained glass looks surreal, almost fake and in that respect you loose some of the elemental beauty of a train ride through the country. There is no glunk-caclunk of the wheels of the train as they pass over the welded gaps in the track, no gentle rocking and no connection with the outside world. That being said I will say the view from my window was spectacular. Large fields of grass, mint green would cover vast areas of lanscape, rolling and undulating with the terrain and then would smothered by a million small sunflowers checkering the view from yellow to green and back again. (there are some shots on flickr that attempt to show this but as you will also see it was difficult to have the proper words for what I was seeing.) I tried to write in my journal, but fell asleep soon afterwards.

2. BORDEAUX - NOTHING TO WHINE ABOUT!
I arrived in Bordeaux under grey skys and a cool breeze that shook the wonderlust right out of me as if it to say, HEY wake up you need to find a place to stay. I was having trouble getting in touch with my contact in Bordeaux and was on my own for the night. I happened upon a hotel near the station and just checked in and dropped my bags off and immediately left in search of a bottle of wine and consumables. I had read in the dead-weight piece of shit book that I bought called Europe on a Shoestring (seriously it should be called, Europe - If you had a time machine! Nothing was where it was supposed to be, and a little genuine brain power could have saved me 50 bucks and about 1.5lbs) said there was a place called Cassoulette which was affordable and good. I stopped over to find it near the Place de Victoires where it was located which essentially was a piazza that housed a university and boarded the good part of town and the not so good part of town. I was a little disoriented, because a part of me expected to find a train station made of grapes or something. I really wasn't expecting so much of a city, but then again, I've never really been anywhere, and I don't think I had any real idea of what to expect. So I found the place and the food good, nothing ground breaking, but solid and good. I had a bacalou which, if Ignacio or anyone from Il Buco reads this, I will tell you it needed salt. I tried to get drunk that night and ended up drinking a whole bottle of some house wine which wasn't bad to tell you the truth. Everything over here tastes different, not always better but different. For example, I have a guilty pleasure, TWIX. I admit it, however, when I tasted the twix here in France, the cookie part tasted like it was just baked. It was amazing! I couldn't believe it. So there you go. I wandered home, succesfully inebriated and with a belly full of typical french food.

3. BORDEAUX PART DEUX - ALEXANDRE THE GREAT

The next morning I met Alexandre, the childhood friend of a friend of mine at the train station. Alex played rugby and as soon as I sat down in his car, I noticed a ring from a Cohiba cigar. I could tell that he was the kind of person who had his passions. He was kind enough to take me for lunch and was letting me sleep at his apartment for a couple of days while I explored the town. As soon as we got into the car, I realized how stupid I was. The town of bordeaux was small, but once you crossed both the proverbial and literal tracks, you found a whole new world of limestone facades and spires and copper fountains spitting in every direction. The weather had changed and the skys had turned from Grey to a powder blue. As Alex and I struggled to understand each other, he not speaking much English, and I not speaking much french. I figured this out early on in my excurtions, that I may have thought that I could speak french, but I cannot. I can however understand 90% of what is being said, which only allows me to point affirmingly at what I want. We parked the car and sat down to a really great bistro right in the middle of the town with Alexandre's wife Nathalie. She is a lovely woman and they immediately made me feel at home in their company. It was easy to feel at home, especially since Nathalie explained how the French love to drink during their lunch. I agreed and took another glass of wine. Its easy to enjoy yourself in France especially when a bottle of Bordeaux is readily available.


This is part one of this post and stay tuned, this friday I will upload the rest of my photos, and finish this blog posting. Sorry everyone to cut it short, but its 80 degrees here in Biaritz, and I'd rather be surfing then typing. I know you'll understand.

Talk soon,

Aaron