Recently in france Category
Unfortunately for me I never did get to live in France long enough to unearth all of her Francaiseness. I didn't even go to a single chateau or winery (WTF!?). I did, however, learn some useful things, elicit a few entertaining quotes, have some deep thoughts, and received some niceness in Nice.
The following are a few last stories I'd like to share with you from France.
You've likely noticed from my tone in the few blogs I posted from here that the shift from Beijing was shockingly difficult for me. I am still quite amazed how much culture shock I went through; how it was almost even more so than when I first went to China. But in fact, I've spoken to a few other British people, and they, too, experienced several months of 'anger/frustration/shifting'. One told me it took him over four months to adjust. The culture is so similar but so - surprisingly and oddly - different.
For instance, Meanness.
French people like being mean, it (along with complaining) gets them off. Everywhere you go, you see Frowns. Seriousness. As soon as you speak, you are a total moron because your grammar or pronunciation isn't perfect. They look at you like you are a worm. But I found in my last month here that for the most part this is only at the surface. Once you get IN with a French person, they are with you for life. In my last week in France, my landlords took me in when I was not wanted (nor allowed) anywhere else, and had no other people to help keep me alive. They fed me, talked to me about how I felt, and constantly reminded me that it will all work out in the end. They might be exceptional people in any culture, but all in all, French people aren't that bad. It just takes them a while to let you find that out.
Another example of why us CommonWealth-ers struggle to
adjust to France is Boundaries. Both personal and work boundaries are very different in France. For me, this was both annoying
and uncomfortable a first. Everything new is always annoying and uncomfortable
at first, right? This is due to massive gaps between a boss and their
subordinate or a student and their teacher. For a Canadian, this is a tough
pill to swallow. Apparently we have the smallest gap IN THE WORLD between
relationships such as this. Sorry for being used to calling my Dean by his
first name and giving him high fives in the hall (right, David!?). Furthermore,
French people's boundaries between work and home life are also quite depressing to those of us who know the joy of grabbing a beer after work, or even playing
on a baseball tram together. In France, don't even think about suggesting
post-work-beers with the team. No extra-curricular time is spent with
colleagues. And they work no more than a 35 hour work week, but the second work
is over, they head home. What can they possibly do with all their time?
The Language: It took me a full 3 months to be comfortable with using French again. But (Murphy's law) during my last week in Nice, I have to say, I was impressive - the vocabulary and grammar I was throwing out there. ... wooo! But as previously mentioned, it is not uncommon for a local to essentially tell you to stop talking since you are ruining their language. Not too supportive of an environment in general.
So it takes three months not only to adjust to a culture, but also to re-remember a language of your childhood. Even when you expect both the language and culture to be so similar to your own, Mental note. Apparently it also takes 3 months for someone to go 180 on you. Another mental note. Nothing in life is permanent.
I went through a process of discovering more about what I want in my life while pursuing my Dream Job in France. Becoming a writer has been fun, obviously, and I've won several competitions so far and have a few bites on my book (and it's only been 4 months!) but it is a very lonely profession. Some say, the loneliest. Something for me to be aware of in the future. In experiencing that life here, I learned the difference between Being Alone and Being Lonely. I felt lonely at first but once I got into the swing of it, I realized I was not lonely, just alone. And that is not a bad thing at all. Moreover, the shift from an ancient, vibrating, ever-changing metropolis of 12 million people to a small town, out of the city, with a tiny population of less than half a million, taught me the difference between how a place can Be Peaceful and how we might initially misconstrue that as Being Boring. Each alternative has its perks. Though that too was a tough shift at first, by December I had learned to accept the peacefulness (while at the same time dying for some excitement).
Ultimately, I want to try to be fair and positive about my time in France, but truly, the only good thing about it in general is the cheap wine, of which I drank almost 5 Litres in my last week. Nothing like taking advantage of the present! I am pretty excited to be leaving, in fact. As many of you heard me say over and over, the only good thing here was Sebastian. I don't consider myself an expert, but I have been in love 5 times, and lived with my love 4 times. Although he no longer loves me, those 3 months were the best 3 months I have ever had in a relationship. I was taken care of, loved, and nurtured in just the way I need. I was grateful for how good I had it every day and I told him so. I can only hope that one day I find someone else half as wonderful (pre-mental-and-emotional-breakdown). The trouble is all animals go through a physical reaction to stress: the fight or flight response. I guess it was best that I found out he was a flyer and not a fighter early on rather than later.
Notre Dame in Paris
Quotes by the French about the French:
I worked for IELTS (The International English Language Testing System) for all of Southern France (the same job as I did in China) and it was an unbelievable way to get to know the culture, people, and nuances of a country. Some of my favorite quotes from interviewees are as follows: (A note to the reader, read with a very strong French accent).
"In French Culture, we see work as a burden. Basically, we don't like working."
"French people don't want to have to think about new things. People say we are lazy. We are."
"French people are not so welcoming. I think you know this."
Other insights form the IELTS students wasn't just negative/funny like the above quotes; in fact, I learned to appreciate Bordeaux and Southern France more by listening to them and their insight on it. In addition, I learned why (annoying to me) tradition and culture are so important and protected by the French - the Second World War was not long ago, and it affected them possibly the most out of all countries in the world. Two generations isn't a long time. Maybe it's a good thing they work hard to remember.
Deep French Thoughts
As you know, I am a writer. I wrote a bit about France while here but mostly wrote about China. Of the things I wrote about France, most was generally angry or frustrated. I can't help it, I was adjusting! (plus brought up to hate them) As a writer I keep a pad of paper and pen with me any times when I don't have my computer. Here are some of my "Deep French Thoughts" from my journal:
Yes, French people are rude. But it is simply because they don't agree. Agree with what? With the idea of joy, fun or gratitude. Rather, they have rules and paper work in a vice grip, squeezing hard, fearing nothing else, but the loss of "solidarité".
It's different being a foreigner in places like France. Here, I look like everyone else, dress like everyone else, and even talk like everyone else (for the daily pleasantries anyways). But this 'likeness' almost makes it even more difficult and lonely. I want to stand out. I want people to know I don't belong. I want to stand up and scream, "Hey look at me, I'm different! Be my friend!"
French women are all thin and gorgeous, but insanely frustrated. I don't relate to nor do I feel a connection to the women of France at all. They are in a tough spot, and I mainly feel sorry for them. Currently they are stuck in the middle of being educated yet held under the thumb of traditional ways.
Side note: In general, Europe has been quite disappointing to me with regard both to its treatment of women, and its treatment of the environment. A lot of what we see in the media is a façade.
Bordeaux at night at Christmas
Nice is Nice (pronounced like: neeeese is naighse)
Though the scenario was not ideal, I spent a good amount of time learning about and exploring Nice during my second last week ever in the South of France. (no, I won't go back, unless we do that bike tour and write a book on it, Alex!). Nice is by far my most favorite city in France. There aren't many other sandy-beached-palm-treed-café-lined-boulevard-cities with Italian men everywhere... we all know how much I route for the Italian men's soccer team.
Nice has the Nicest (pronounced "neeecest" (pun!)) people in France. It is, essentially, the anti-Paris. I had some of my first funny and fun conversation with people in Nice since arriving in France. One was a Cambodian immigrant, the other was an Italian man. So no, neither were French, but both were in French, and both lived in Nice. People in Nice care for one another, something I had forgotten people do after my time in China and then France. For example, the odd seat rendered to an elderly woman or helping someone get their ticket stamped on the bus. The little things that go a long way are things I notice in a culture - things that I appreciate.
The last cool thing about Nice is the Italian/Spanish influence in everything. Architecture, language, food, and the even the way people look.
The beach at Nice. Nice.
Coming Home
We had a couple of difficulties in our first two months. I guess some people give up after that. One of them was the Internet and the other was my Visa. France is living in the stone-age when it comes to technology, and as we all know, they are in love with their bureaucracy. The visa was a bit stressful too. There is a rule in France stating that the only possible way for a North American to get a job in France is if no other European applies or is capable of doing the job. American haters! I went around this and used OrangOrang as an enterprise from which I would be bringing jobs and income to the country. After 6 months of effort, I got my 'Titre de Sejours' in my last week. Condition-free. A small miracle. A miracle I couldn't share with anyone. But something to consider: I can now live anywhere in Europe, no conditions, for the next 3 years. Hmmmmm.....
When something devastating and unexpected happens in our lives, we are made to be so vulnerable that we are unable to manage ourselves. That is when friends and family come in to play, and through these last few weeks, I have been reminded about just how amazing my friends and family are; just how supportive and loving they can be. All of the thoughtful messages, emails and letters I've received have overwhelmingly reminded where Home is, and most importantly, what Home means.
A blow like this, unfortunately, doesn't push you along; instead, it takes the wind entirely from your sails. For this reason, for now, I feel I've been abroad long enough. Although it is not of my own choice, I am, in fact, ready to come home.
It's exciting!
I'm coming home this time not just to quickly see everyone, but to really connect with people again. To be there for them as they have just been there for me. I'm even looking forward to it - the new adventures I will have in and around my home, coupled with the familiarity, the safety, and the family.
Going abroad and experiencing, seeing and learning what I have over the last 4 years has been fun. But as with many of life's experiences, I realize more than ever what is important in life. Adventures are great, but family is Life.
So I have to say that this is the end for now. The end of Lindy-loo's Life as we know it. Maybe the next few things you will read by me will be published. Paperback? Hardcover due out 2012;) Until then I will leave you with a thought I had in the bath this November. Seems even more fitting now.
What is life if not but a string of failures?
Like water. It attracts, connects, pools to a point.
Until which it
flows, runs, and finally falls.
It is mere chemical reactions. Hydrogen
bonding.
Rules by which nature has enforced both a predetermined and
inescapable finality on us.
Such is life, then: nothing more then an encoded attraction, connection, flow then fall - to failure.
To be unloved and sent home is one thing. But to then be treated as if I am a disease and avoided like the Plague, with no help to the airport let alone a goodbye? No words can describe it fully. Selfish, weak, spineless. But others' journeys are not my own. I can only accept and try to learn from it. Knowing neither I or anyone I love would have ever behaved that way. At the very least I can be thankful I learned earlier on what type of man I had accidentally fallen in love with, and try not to do that again.
One of my many lessons through all this (aside from forgiveness, compassion, and letting go) has been that life is better when there is someone special in it for you to love unconditionally, and who will love and cherish you back. For some of you that's obvious. For me, I had to really have it in my face to come to terms with it. Returning to Canada, I will keep that at the front of my mind while making some pretty huge life decisions, set to change the course of my life over the next few months.
Today
is my thirtieth birthday!
I am grateful for everything that I have: health, family, brains, forgiveness, beauty, compassion, friends, gratitude, experience, education and fire in my belly. I could easily be happy with life as it is now, doing what I love, being around people who accept me and allow me to grow, living a life wholeheartedly, vulnerable, and open. And I am.
They say life begins at thirty.
Well, I guess I'm about to find out!
My Love comes home from his day and tells me he doesn't love me anymore. He struggles. He cries. I sit on the cold ground, heart-pounding-in-the-throat-unable-to-swallow-shocked. This is the sort of thing that only happens in the movies. The adventurous, vibrant, loving couple played by Sandra Bullock and Val Kilmer. They have the entire world at their finger tips, until it is crushed by someone or something. But this isn't a movie. This is real life. My life. I must be dreaming. I beg to be woken up.
In our case it is neither someone (in the extra-marital
relationship sense) or something which broke the bond. Rather, it is as he puts
it, "The hardest thing I ever had to do," to which I beg, "If it's so hard then
don't do it!" A fist comes up and knocks my right jaw. I fall back. Then my
left. My body swings the other way. And finally, one hits my stomach. I crumble on the floor. At
least that is what I feel. Nothing but fists, pounding my body. "I don't love
you anymore. And I don't have any hope for us." He looks away when he says
these words. He is so young. So brave. So vulnerable. I want to help him. And stab him. I would rather he
hit me. Cheat. I would rather anything than this.
I sit, stunned, shaking. Trying to touch him. He slouches, hands in his lap, looking only forwards. But he told me I'm the love of his life. "But you're the love of my life!" I scream. He manages to make eye contact but I wish he hadn't. His eyes are more vacant than those of a stranger's. Ice-cold. Lifeless. He's creating this in his head. He doesn't really mean it. He's tired. He's shut down. He's shivering. I go get him a glass of water and a sweatshirt. We do things like that for one another, people in loving relationships. He did stuff like that for me every day, until today.
I thought he'd be different. No, I still do! Different than
every man in his family. Leavers. I thought we'd be different. I thought he was braver than them.
But you are a coward. He's too lazy to work on this together. You have no idea
what a real relationship requires. I should have known. I move into the Anger stage of grief and loss. What
an asshole.
I leave in the morning, tears on his ear and neck. Begging
him to listen to his heart and not his head. "You are the colour in my life," I
say as I leave. I am a writer, after all, "And without you, my life is only black and
white." To be fair, I mean it at the time. The corniness. We do that together,
us fun lovers. We are cheesy together. "I'm on a train to Paris." A text
message comes in while I am at work only a few hours later. There's nothing
fun about that.
The man I love is part of me. He makes up part of how I identify with the world. We, us. I am half of this. It is half of me. To lose these things both at once is indescribable. To have it ripped from under me. Out of my control. I lose Him and Us. I am not just cut in half. I am cubed and put into a pot of boiling water for soup. This can't be real. This isn't happening. Denial, again.
I fight some more. Leaving messages, emails, notes and texts. Smothering him, suffocating him with my love and what he means to me. We are meant to be together! I try to find him to give him my strength and faith. I try to find the man I love and who loves me. He is somewhere behind those blank eyes. Protecting himself. The eyes look past me as the mouth tells me, "You can stay in the house as long as you need to, until you find somewhere else to go." These eyes - that I find comfort and strength in - are just tired of the worry. Tired from the Unsaid Things. The Little Things are now Big. The comforting eyes are no longer.
Now what do I do? I
begin to move past denial again. The red head of anger rushes towards me. But
before it strikes, I find just enough space to cry. For us. For him. For
losses. For his lost love. For my Love, lost. For anyone who's ever been abandoned.
----
Bargaining is the next phase of grief and loss. I am good at
that. I am comfortable in this role. "Just come to Portugal with me next week
like we'd planned." We've already checked in online. "Just let's think of June.
We can just be in love and have fun until then, then you can decide." I'll
be the perfect girlfriend, I promise. "I'll do the dishes every day." "You
can eat whatever you want." "I love your friends and want you to spend more
time with them." I mean it all. I bargain for time, space, and love without any
currency to exchange. I give up future wants and desires and winning the
who-gets-the-remote-tonight battles in advance. I try to bargain everything
that I have and more. My hands are held out, full. But they appear empty to
him. I have nothing he wants. I am unlovable.
I meditate. My friends meditate. My family sends special
notes saying "if it's meant to be he will come back to you. Give him time. Just
hang in there." Change your mind, come back to me, feel the love I have for
you. We all work to manifest his return. His mum is speechless. My world is crumbling. Hang in there. Hang in there. Hang in there.
----
I get a call two days later. He's reconsidered. He's coming home!
He blew off steam, felt
more in control, and is going to "Give it another chance."
I am elated. I am a
thirty second shooting star and one hundred sunny days in a row. I get
another chance, I get another chance. I get another chance! I do the Get Another Chance Dance. Then I stop. He's
going to change his mind. How I know this,
I don't know.
I fear it. The fear so cold is sends me into a restless,
unconscious sleep. So deep it is not real. I call him. "Are you sure you aren't
going to change your mind?" I use my little-girl-cute-voice to remind him I am
lovable, but I come across desperate. I have already lost all respect for
myself so I don't care. I am a thousand kilometers past the point of
desperation. A day's drive past respect. Nearing a sign on the road which says Five Minutes To Annihilation.
"No, I promise. We're a team." He sounds happy. He sounds like him. I feel light again, and fall blissfully drugged by his sweet soulful voice, onto my bed.
----
The next morning I am restless. It could be the coffee. It could be from the itchy, foreign bed. It's mostly because he's not replied to my texts messages. It is 11am. I start to panic. He's changed his mind BACK! I know it. I run back to my hotel during the lunch break. My heart in my throat. The punches come again, a thousand fists at once. I call him. Five times. He doesn't answer. I know why. I don't have the strength for it, but I call again. One last try. He picks up. He was wrong. He can't do it. He tried but there is something holding him back. "It's your own fear, my love! Don't do this! We can work through it." He's given up the best thing that ever could have been. I should be mad. I should be resentful. I should lose all faith in him as a human being. But I feel nothing but love and compassion. He is confused. Sad. Young. Inexperienced. He is the man I love. Even if he does not love me.
-----
"I guess I have to come home. Maybe I'll become a police
officer or something." I say to my sister that night, as we try to keep me from
murdering myself with the plastic knife I find in my room. "Why am I such a
loser? Why can't nobody love me?" Depression. The final stage. I scratch at my
skin. L + S = love is now a red engraving on my leg. I feel fifteen. I feel more vulnerable that I have ever felt. I am alone. Unwanted.
----
Just as I begin to accept, I stop. I listen. A glimmer.
A glint. I feel something. The universe. He will change his mind again. I know it, too. I know this voice. It is myself from
the future. It is every wise woman from every galaxy. It is God. It speaks to
me.
But when? I don't know if it
will be too late. He tries booking me a flight home - away from him - as soon as possible. I
refuse it. Give it more time. Give me more time!
I try calling him at night. I want to hear his voice. His
breath. Even just to sense him on the other end. I stalk. A broken heart
unwilling to accept. Strength and faith wither, but remain. Destiny cannot
be altered.
----
I am coming home. February 2nd.
There is another strike on in France today. When I say another one I don't mean another one this year, or another one since the last one. What I should say is the entire country is on a perpetual strike. It affected me today, though. As a cycle commuter and person who does not work within the countries systems, the Constant Strike (what I would like to rename France) culture here rarely affects me. But it did today. And I am mad.
It's become a joke, really, the strikes here. The Solidarité the French are so in love with. In Bordeaux there is a beautiful centre area called Victoire. It has a monument for the Second World War and the buildings around it are all a part of the UNESCO world heritage site that is the downtown core. But every time I am down there it is crawling with union workers waving banners and banging drums against some sort of whatever.
Another incredibly not funny joke is our internet situation. It's been two months now and the entire country can't seem to figure out how to get us internet in our home. I spend hours of my days, every day, walking from my house to a café or library (which are rarely open - the hours are 2pm to 6pm on a good day) and sometimes five or six euros on things I don't want or need just so I can sit in a place and communicate with the outside world. That is what the internet is to me - my one and only communication tool here, in country I dislike, away from all my friends and family. Is it too much to ask to have a means of communicating?
Today we had planned to go into the city, where, of
course, there would
be mass protests (imagine what an amazing and positive impact France
could have on the world if they spent their time and energy on something
other
than whining and complaining) but where there might also be some festive
music,
lights and activities. It is, afterall, the Christmas season. We left
our house
at noon and upon arriving at the tram station and buying our tickets, to
our
dismay, we noticed a small and barely legible sign saying there is a
strike
today. No trams are running. We walked another half an hour to the
centre of
our little village called Pessac, where I knew of a bus that should take
us
into Bordeaux. It left at 1:13. Perfect. We arrived to the station at
1:10.
Here, we waited
until 1:40. No bus arrived. Several other people had gather to also
wait, but
we turned around before finding out if they ever got where they needed
to go.
Instead, we went to the train station, which has a train into Bordeaux
every ten minutes or so. It wasn't our first choice because the Bordeaux
train station is a half an hour walk from Victoire. It was better than
not going into town though. but I was beginning to wonder. When we
arrived at the train station, we
found out there is a gap in service on Saturdays. No trains run between 1
and 3
pm. The next train was due to arrive at 15:12. I was near tears.
Maybe to some of you are
reading this now and thinking, 'well, come on, McGrew, what's the big
deal?'
And to you I might nod my head in agreement but argue that if you had no
friends, no
family, and this was about the tenth time in one month where this had
happened to
you, not to mention it was zero degrees, rainy and windy, you might
conceed to
it being a crappy moment. One of many lately.
I'm at home now, hating France as a write this. What else can I blame it on? But I shouldn't complain. I have food, water, shelter, and a wonderful partner who loves and supports me. But is that enough? If it isn't, am I asking too much? Is it too much to ask that public transit actually run on time or run at all? Is it too much to ask that France Telecom, the government operated telephone company, hook up our phone line when they say, let alone two months after the fact? Is it too much to ask that is stop raining just for one afternoon let alone a few days in a row so the roof will stop leaking? I guess the answer to all of these questions is 'yes.' Oui, d'accord...it is too much. It is too much to ask for anything here, I am learning. Maybe that is why French people are constantly out parading around and shouting slogans. Maybe I need to get on some sort of committee and vent my frustrations. Instead of dreaming of things like pouring boiling water on my feet or breaking a glass and taking all the shards in my hands and squeezing, hard - I should take those feelings and use them somewhere else.
For now, I am drinking a hot chocolate (which I managed to boil over and it is now all over the kitchen) and trying to brainstorm how I will survive here until July. July! I have to be here seven more months. It feels like a jail sentence now. So far, the one and only thing I have come up with that I like here is the fresh markets (only on Sundays though and everything else is completely closed Sundays - everything! - which almost cancels out the Sunday market goodness). OK, so I need a few others. I like how it is easy for me to find organic food here. And I like how I can have a healthy body here, I can make good food choices because I understand the label and the air and water are clean (unlike China - but no more special than Finland, Canada, or a zillion other countries I would rather be in now).
Maybe I need to look back at some pictures. Cause it can't all have been so bad the last few months. I've only cried once a week; not daily, since arriving.
This pic is something I see almost daily, on my run through the park near our home called Le Burque.
Our first and only visitor so far was Neil, my
hommie,
originally from the Tiger Leaping Gorge (June 2008) then also seen in
Hawaii
Xmas/New Years 2008/9 and not long after the Tribute to 500 Year Old
Churches,
our surf odyssey through the UK, the summer of 2009.
We tried, and failed (again) at finding waves to surf together. But in the process went to Europe's largest sand dunes. And walked for over 6 hours on them (not my choice...Neil is one determined guy).
At least it was sunny and warm. Until the hail storm came. At least it
was beautiful.
Aside from that, I am working with IELTS here now (finally and thank god) and my first exam was in Toulouse, a two hour train ride Southeast, and France's fourth largest city at 1.2 million people. It was an incredibly gorgeous city and I forgot to bring my camera but am luckily heading back for more IELTS in early January so will for sure get some more pictures to post. The buildings are all pink. And we saw a few sixty year old hookers. Both equally exciting! Aside from that, it seemed much more 'South of France' to us. And it is the European center for aeronautics engineering.
That's about it so far. Being an expatriate in a country like France is a big shift from China. Here, I don't look different or even seem different until I have a few sentences or more out. It isn't immediately apparent like in Asia. This has it's perks but definitely it's draw backs. For instance, it's been much harder finding friends here. China is a closed culture, as much so, I would say, as France. So it's not that. It's that I don't stand out here. There is nothing special about me. Why would anyone want to be friends with just a regular girl?
Lastly, the next post will be in early January from
Finland.
So Merry Christmas to you all and happy new year! I cannot even begin to
list
the one thousand things I am looking forward to this Christmas in
Finland. And
I am really looking forward to reporting them all (including but not
limited to
the polar bear swim I promised to do with Sebastian's grandma, the ski
trip we
are planning with his brothers, the amazing new foods and my constant
supply of glug) just as soon as I have collected enough pics to describe
the madness of a place that gets less than 5 hours of light during this
time of year!!!!!!
"Vegan" means you do not use, in any capacity, animals...for anything. It seems way out there for some of you, and even for me, I thought it might be a stretch. For the last few years I have been quite strictly, a vegetarian. This to me meant neither the consumption, nor the use (leather, fur, animal testing) of animal products in any of the products I use or wear on a daily basis. It was never difficult at all. I don't even like meat. Or leather jackets for that matter. But How could I go without my precious French toast, omlettes, or homemade pizza?!?
Being a vegetarian has more recently become a lifestyle and value to me than just a way of eating. I have trouble being around people who are eating meat. I have trouble even hearing about it. I try not to be judgmental, though, afterall, other's lives are not my own. My choice is for me, and it allows me to feel as though I am doing what I can to help the planet. I sleep better at night. But really, we all have access to the same information out there. It is staring at us all right in the face. Global warming, the war on oil, a multi-continent obesity epidemic, etc. Meanwhile people starve, sometimes even in our own backyards. But we don't think of that much, do we? Why? Because corporations don't make money on that stuff. They make money of getting you to buy what they are selling. And they do this by telling you that you need it. Enter: lobbyists for the dairy, tobacco, or bio-pharmaceutical industries.
You have a choice to believe them or not.
Coming to France and neither eating the canard confit, the caviar, nor the sausage, let alone the mass variety of cheese, would be like if someone were to come to France and not drink the cheap, wonderful, red wine. This would, in large part, also be like saying NO to the culture itself. But, what is culture but a long list of traditions that no longer make sense? We are educated now. Furthermore, we all have access to more information than ever. You do, if you are reading this online.
We all know what is happening to the planet, and yet we continue on in our own ways, pretending to be oblivious.
I guess if someone told me they did not want to ever drink wine, even if it were for a logical reason (like the fact that it is poison to your brain) I would think they were crazy. So, you are allowed to think I am crazy, when I say I never want to consume or use an animal in any way ever again. But I truly believe and must say that I am so much happier and better off for it.
Coming to France and being vegetarian, let alone vegan has
upset me a bit (hence this rant). The amount of French people who have laughed
at me when I say I am vegetarian...who have scoffed and actually said things
like, "why else do you think animals are here, on this planet, than for us to
use them?"And who don't even know of tofu nor have even heard of soy milk....
I mean, I might expect to hear something like this form a 75 year old retired trucker in Northern Alberta . But an educated, young, European? It makes me sick.
I am, and was, a vegetarian in order to do my part to save the planet. I recycle, compost, and ride my bike instead of take public transit for this reason too. I have recently been learning that the dairy industry is actually worse for the environment (mainly due to carbon emissions) than the beef, poultry, and pork industries combined. We all have a choice, every time we are given a fact. We can turn a blind eye; we can chose to think about it a bit; and/or, we can chose to act. I am acting, in the best way I know how. And it feels good.
From Monday through Friday I have been vegan since arriving
in France. It has been a month. A month of going with no meat, no fish, no
eggs, and no dairy during the entire week. If it were so difficult, you would
think I would go wild and crazy on the weekends, right? But I don't. Not at
all. I've not felt any need or desire for eggs, fish or dairy. The one and only
thing I 'treat' myself to on a Saturday or Sunday, is the odd cappuccino. Which
I could make at home with soy milk and enjoy even more, to be honest.
Some of you skeptics out there might see it as 'losing,' but there are so many fun and amazing things you become aware of in this scenario. Oat milk, almond milk, rice milk, hazelnut milk, soy, (of course) tofu, tofurky, sehtan, and my personal favorite, tempeh. I add lentils and green vegetables to every meal, and have more energy and am less hungry than ever. And I feel wonderful. I feel like I am glowing. Being a hippie is cool.
Going vegan has been so much easier than I expected. I am going to assume it is for two main reasons. 1. It has been a process. From me being 16 years old and not eating red meat, to being 20 and cutting out chicken, to moving to China and going full vegetarian, to now. And 2. I am not a Nazi about it. If I really MUST have a coffee with Baileys, then I accept the fact that feel as though I must. And so I will partake, in a little bit of milk product, on a Sunday morning. If I really want to put a bit of cheese on my pasta, because it does smell good, then on Saturday night, I will. But again, the point is, I've not felt that want or need these things. The alternatives are honestly so much better. Plus, you would be surprised at how little you really need.
Every decision we make has the potential to positively or negatively impact the earth, our environment, other plants and animals, the present, and most obviously the future.
When we make decisions to eat certain things like meat, it's not just our own body we're abusing; it's everything around us, too. Not to mention, it's murder. Furthermore, millions of people for hundreds of thousands of years, in thousands of cultures and languages, have gone without meat. We (humans) don't NEED it.
You don't need it.
Food, clothing, shelter. The three basic requirements. Enough food to sustain yourself. Enough clothing to keep yourself warm, and enough shelter to keep you dry. That's all we all should ever want or need. Clean air, Clean water, Clean food...these are luxuries in most countries. Even today, with all our 'development' and 'civilization'. Listen to yourself, when you say the words you are saying right now if you are disagreeing with me. Listen to your sentences. They don't make sense. You are and have been brainwashed by the man.
Science has proven so much, but corporations and religions are doing their utmost to counter act it. You chose who you want to believe. But I urge you, to try to at the very least, educate yourself.
Whichever way you chose to go, I promise, you'll still love my recipe for mushroom and tofu scramble on a baguette for breakfast.
Email me if you want the recipe;)
Lastly, here are a few views of our lovely little home full of hippies, love, and a lot of my stuff from China. In some freak event, it was sunny for a few minutes yesterday afternoon, so I was able to get these nice pics.
Here is the view from our bathroom, through the kitchen, and to the sitting room.
Our living room...
The bedroom...
And lastly, our little humble abode, from the outside.
