The Road Home

October 12^th

 

My mind is going crazy this morning. Anxiety about this, that, the other. Worrying about the past and stressing about what's to come - both seriously destructive behaviors. Useless, I know.

Maybe a full moon is coming. Maybe I'm lacking some vitamins. But more than every possible externality, these constant worries gnawing on me today are likely due to the impending changes this move to France will hold. I should be excited about it all. But I'm not.

Why? Well, firstly I have been conditioned in Anglophone Canada to hate the French. Aside from that, every experience I have ever personally had with the French has been....difficult. French people never stop complaining and think their everything is the best. "French men are better, you should dump your boyfriend for a French man; French wine is much better than this; Oh you wouldn't know about good food, for that, you must go to France," are only a handful of things that have actually been said to me. And it is not their way of bragging. When they are in their country they hate everything there too. It is their way of complaining. What if the people in Bordeaux are horrible? What if I can't fit in there?

Aside from being very unenthusiastic about moving to this place and culture I've never felt the slightest enthusiasm for, I am worried about the living arrangements. Not at all because of Bastian. But because of the experiences I have had in the past in this sort of arrangement, and how, in particular during the last time, I was certain I was just unable to live with another person. I had come to terms with simply being an undomesticateable type of animal. I learned in the past that living with a boyfriend brings out the worst in me. That I could never live with a mate again. And here I go.

Lastly, work. OOP...well, not much I can say here now but...I wanna be a writer! How do I do that? Do writers even make any money any more? Doesn't everyone want to become a famous writer? Is it not a dying art? Thanks to google translate, ebooks, and the freedom of information online?

Ok, so now, I am done complaining, (thanks for listening) and I want to say something positive. I'll try to trick my brain into thinking it is not worried. Right now I have stopped at a seaside café in a  little town called ViaReggio. The sun is shining. It is 20 or so degrees. I'm up on the Western/Mediterranean tip of Italy now. Quite near Genova. There are still palm trees, vineyards, and proof the warm weather will be sticking around for a bit longer. The mountains around here are beautiful. I took some pretty good pics of the leaning tower this morning. And I love cappuccinos. I have to say, my favorite part of this little guilty pleasure (as it, along with eating pizza, pastries, and drinking beer will all end once I arrive to Bordeaux) is the foam. The frothier the better.

 

(1pm)

 

Powered through 75km at Mach 10. Motivated by hundreds of day riders out there on their speedy bikes, with their matching outfits. That's something -like speedos- that I might never get used to, no matter how long I live in Europe. I kept up with one group for 30km or so. Then I bonked. So now I've stopped to eat some raisin bread and cream cheese. I am so sick of bread and cheese. But it is the only way to get quick, cheap, instant energy into me. Aside from the animal product thing (been thinking a lot lately of going totally vegan), it is just too much. When I get to Bordeaux I am eating only fruits and vegetables for 2 weeks. Then adding in beans for a week. Then adding in grains. And that will be my diet. Fruits, veggies, beans, grains and nuts. Oh, and wine and beer of course, which, conveniently are products of fruit and grains.

 

Due to my Hurculean pace this morning, I got to the train station early. Now I am on a train to San Remo, or rather, the border of Italy and France. I would rather be cycling this portion. It is gorgeous. We're passing these little towns on cliffs over looking the ocean. Big mountains jet out from the sea and the train is in tunnels more often than out. I just want to get off and see this and feel it with my feet! But will have to save that for another time I guess. The focus now is getting to France. (This is how my bike travels by train.)

 

(5pm)

 

Wow, this has by far been the slowest (50km/hr) and most scenic train of my life. I must come back here. I will come back. It is out of a movie. Take everything you'd expect to see off the coast of Portugal or Spain, and everything you have sen on the California coast, and that is what I am watching go by me now. It it's 23C and sunny! I want to get off and ride!!!!!!!

           

I had not expected this train ride to be so long. It's given me time to think more and worry less. Or, rather, think myself out of worrying. I don't think Monaco and Nice are very far from where I get off this train. And if I am so certain I will come back to this area (planning a bike trip from Barcelona to Rome in April, wanna come?) why don't I just bust my butt to Bordeaux as fast as I possibly can? Why can't I just accept the fact that I have an amazing man who thinks the world of me, anxiously waiting for my arrival to start a live together?

 

(9pm)

 

The moral of today's story was, if you want to get somewhere badly enough, and you are in a hurry, ride your bike on the highway. If I said deja vu, would you know what was coming up next?

 

I got off the train and knew I had about 1.5 hrs of light left, but was uncertain about how much riding was ahead of me. I had not eaten since morning and was lightheaded from hunger, but I desperately wanted to get to France, and then a train station that would get me somewhere: Nice, Marseille, Toulouse, anywhere close to Bordeaux tonight.

 

I flew out of the gates and followed the signs to France. To my surprise, it was only 10km or so away, and I arrived into this majestically beautiful down as the sun touched the mountains. It was gorgeous and I wanted pictures. But did not dare stop for anything. I was rushing. Rushing with no real aim.

 

Then, I saw a sign to Nice. And it was only 30km away! I could get there by dark. Or at least get really close. And even if I don't make it by sundown, I'll for sure make it before the last train of the day leaves to Marseille. Wow! I'll get there! This is my first view ever of France. My new home.

Back to being a woman on a mission... I started following the blue signs, which in Italy means small road and therefore not highway. I went up, up, up a huge hill. 5kms later, I found myself on a merge, for none other than a major National highway. The déjà vu of Denmark was made only worse though with the sun going down, and no where, absolutely no where to turn off or around. I rode, and got honked at, and rode, and prayed I would not get hit.

 

Then the Denmark déjà vu continued. A van with flashing lights pulled up behind me. Some sort of highway service. The two men inside put me and my bike in the back, and after a few questions and apologies (mine) I found out the blue signs in France mean big highway and the green signs in France (which mean big highway in Italy) mean small road in France.  The men, sweethearts that they were, drove me all the way to Nice, and then gave me directions to the train station (only 3km away!). MERCI! MERCI! MERCI!

 

I arrived to the train station around 830pm. And was confused to find none of the destinations on the main sign correlated with the destinations in the computer where you buy your ticket. SO I asked around. And I found out, there was a train strike in France. The train strike meant no trains were running until the following day. And the next train to Marseille left at 6am.

 

So I got some dinner (a vegetarian donair, what else? Now that I am no longer in Italy, where it was obviously pizza. The obvious choice is, again, Lebanese food) and am now sitting in the train station. Waiting for 6am.

October 13^th

 

Day 2 in France and so far the country's socialism and their unions are already taking their toll on my life. Furthermore, this situation, as you can imagine, has only made the complainers complain even more. "Woke up" at 5, when the train station started buzzing. There were workers about, mostly to act as diversions it seemed. So I asked the one how to get to Bordeaux. And then how to buy a ticket for my bike. They looked at me and said I should first go to Toulon, then Marseille, then Toulouse, then Bordeuax. They looked at my bike and said it wasn't going anywhere. The workers who sell the bike tickets (apparently they are separate in France) are not considered essential. Therefore they are not working today.

So at 530 I rode to the long distance bus station. And I asked around for busses to Marseille, But there was a bus strike on too. And if the bus left to Marseille, it would be up to the bus driver whether or not I could put my bike underneath with the luggage.

I returned hungry and tired to the train station, praying for a miracle like the strike to end today. Instead, the universe gave me Jimmy. I drugged out giggilo who'd just got off work and was looking for another hit. He'd heard me say to someone I was from Canada. So maybe he thought I had drugs. Or maybe he just felt like doing a good deed. Either way, he was stuck on me. A blessing and a curse as you will see.

He snuck me and my bike through a security coded and locked side door. And then onto the train bound for Paris, which would stop in Toulon, where I needed to go first.That was only the beginning.

Before I continue the story of the morning, I need to talk about the men in the world who are attracted to me. Jimmy is a great example, and he falls into the category of men who see me, make eye contact, fall in love, and never want to leave my side. The drunks, bums, beggars, and old men would suffice to describe the general theme. This group of men find me and stick to me like glue. Maybe because I look them in the eye. Maybe I remind them of their mothers or some long lost ex. But so often, I am the centre of their universe for as long as I must be. The thing with these types of men is, they have a good heart. They are just confused. Maybe that's why they like me. Cause that's what I see.

I had the challenge of managing Jimmy for the next 6 hours. Managing is the best way to describe it.

He was actually quite a smooth talker and took the fall when the ticket guys found my bike. A blessing. And he was even able to sneak by bike on a train from Toulon to Marseille too. But that meant he came with me. And with him came all sorts of passes, attempts at kissing me, lots of unwanted and unsolicited touching, and a general feeling of discomfort. The curse. But it was all worth it as I sit here now writing.

Jimmy and I chilled on the trains. Ate free candy and drank free coffee (how is it that a union strikes, then gives out free stuff to apologize? If you're sorry for something, why do it in the first place?) listened to music loudly and he asked everyone who passed us if they had any drugs. They were all very confused I was with him. But I was not. He was my ticket to Bordeaux. Both in heart and mind. At one point when he was getting to be too much, he noticed I was fidgeting anxiously. He asked what was wrong and I told him I was nervous about making it to Bordeaux. He said,"You want to make it to Bordeaux today, baby?" Yes, I nodded "Well then, sweatheart, you will". And Although in that moment I was desperate for any sort of comfort, I smiled at Jimmy the giggilo and felt his warm wisdom in my heart.

If I wanted to get there badly enough, I would get there.

 

(2pm)

 

Now I sit, alone, and overwhelmed on a train in Marseille. Jimmy worked his magic and on this train I am actually allowed a bike.  So am less of a criminal. I am wondering if I just lived a miracle, getting this far on the trains during a strike with a bike? Fingers crossed, this train will get me to Bordeaux.

Bastian doesn't know I am coming yet. He thinks I am in Nice today. Which, I was.  I don't want to tell him yet because I don't know for sure if I will make it and I think it would be a fun surprise if I do.

 

The train ride should be 8 hours or so. So I will blether in my note book to pass the time. Not having my computer for the month has been difficult. I've been able to find Internet cafes around every 4 days or so (about the same time as I am in a hostel) but it is not so much the keeping in touch and up to date as it is the company of a computer. Of my computer. Just being able to write down ideas and work on stories during lonely nights or long train rides would have been a blessing.

 

To add to the exercise of this trip, I've only had two books to read. Both of which I engulfed within the first few days of ownership. I'm not a saver or a pleasure delayer. So I've not read much this month either.

 

What does a girl do who normally lives with either a book or a computer in her face when she has neither? That's actually been a question I've wondered lately. Since, to be honest, I've not really noticed or been too traumatized by it. Except those long nights that start in a tent at 7pm because it is dark, raining, or infested with mosquitoes outside. My point is, I've been surprised with how very quickly I've learned to not need distractions. In fact, I've had music only a 25% of the time too. Which is also quite rare as I spent the 3 years in China keeping myself sane out on the streets with an mp3 glued into my ears. Rather than all the distractions I have become so accustom to I actually thought I needed them to survive, instead, I've just been living min my thoughts. In the present as much as I can and not really thinking too much about anything, really. A nice respite for the old brain.

 

Instead, I spend time trying to find little joys around me. Like people watching and absorbing the local culture. Or, listening to my own breath and how it changes as I go along riding through the day. How my wheels sound on a quite, country road. Quietly observing, with present observations. A general feel of a place. The taste of real Italian pizza or wine. That is a challenge for me, and it always has been, so I find it quite exciting to be coming into it naturally at this time. I think it means I am following my path. At the place I need to be and doing what I need to be doing in this moment.

 

So far, even with La Greve (the strike), France hasn't been so bad. I've even been able to laugh at their constant sneers (as they age, French people all have a frown wrinkle) and amusement in their inamusement ( I got glared at for laughing with Jimmy how many times today!?).

 

With the strike on, the Marseille train station was a disaster zone. Jimmy and I walked around and at one point he asked a worker what time to train to Bordeaux left. Then, because he was not sure whether he would go back to Nice or to Paris, he asked when the train to Nice left, and then when the train to Paris left. The worker started bouncing in his chair and exasperated said, "what is this, some kind of test!?!" and I jumped in and was like, "why, yes, and you passed with a big A and a gold star". Oddly enough, rather than sneer, the worker smiled, maybe realizing how silly he had been at getting upset with our innocent questions.

I am worried I will start being like French people if I live here to long. Can you catch "easily-annoyed-always-unhappy"?

 

(5pm)

 

Well, well, this train seems to be in as much of a rush to get to Bordeaux as I am. We are only 2 hours away and have just left the second last stop!!!! I have not told Bastian I am coming tonight. What a fun surprise! One thing is for certain, that guy's life will never be boring with me around.

 

Over the last 4 hours I've mostly just watched the scenery and the people. French people dress well.  Quite nicely, really. Their noses aren't nearly as big as I expected (though I am currently comparing them to Italians) and there isn't much diversity as far as skin, hair or eye colour as I expected.

 

One great thing about this train ride is I've been able to see the entire South of France today. I will say it is quite pretty. But, it doesn't hold a candle to Italy. There are zillions of vineyards (apparently not just reserved for Bordeaux) and so far I've been quite surprised at the show of wealth. I would guestimate having seen over one thousand yahts today, all of which must be worth millions.

 

I'm quite anxious still about this new life. Today my main concern is Bastian's new school friends. I'm sorry but I don't want to hang out with a bunch of college kids. That was cool when I was 17. I'll have to work on finding a cycling club or some sort of writers group. Find people who are like me. Not who just want to go out and drink so much beer they are sick the next day.

 

I know all these things I've been worrying about shouldn't matter. And it should be enough that I get to wake up beside Bastian each morning. But I know from personal experience that love does not conquer all. We can't expect one person to fulfill all our needs.

 

Anyways, I am on the final stretch there now. The road to my new home. It was a long one, with some serious challenges. But nothing worth doing is ever easy. I made it through the trials and for that I am proud of myself.  And guess what I want to do with Bastian on our first weekend together? Ride our bikes to the ocean and camp for the night, of course!