Popping our heads up (and BIG news)

Where the heck have we been you're all asking. Briefly, everywhere! From Prague to Provence in the last month via Czech countryside, Poland, Austria, Germany, Switzerland (redux for me), France, Spain, and now back in France again. Where to begin?! Well, here goes...(this could be long!)....

From our Prague nest we drove to Northwest Czech Republic to a teeny place called Teplice--very cool, natural spires of limestone soaring into the cool Czech skies through brokendown little towns each with their own set of loudspeakers--leftovers from Communist days?? Our first night back in the tent was a wet one which was to become the tiring trend of August.

From there we did a brief sojourn in Poland to visit the death camp of Auschwitz-Birkenau. I hesitate to write something brief here, because it was so intense and surreal, yet so real for so many millions that I want to honour their lives and deaths. It is actually fairly indescribable. It is one thing to read about the atrocities of the Holocaust, but quite another to stand at the door of a gas oven or crematoriam after having seen photos of the bewildered faces that met their end there. Quite another thing to see their piles and piles of personal effects--glasses, bowls, brushes, suitcases--massive piles, rooms full of things that confused and terrified hands carried there. To see the shoes they walked in with to their deaths--all faded to grey, uniform, so many people lost without name or number. I cannot convey the horror of seeing the wall where children were lined up and shot like criminals. The hooks emaciated and tortured individuals were made to hang on. The sheer size of the place, the cruelty of guards, the calm mastermindedness of it all was truly sickening. We actually both felt physically sick to our stomachs. I never felt more crushed as when I looked at babies clothes and booties--knowing they clung naked to their mothers naked bodies as they choked to death in the life-stealing gas. The evil, hatred, and pride that people are capable of was sobering and humbling. How much would it require for me to cross the line?

After that sight, we needed a mental rest, so we shacked up in some "bungalows"--ie. camping but in bare (but dry!) portables in Brno, Czech Rep. It felt like sheer luxury. I was able to pull out the scissors and glue while Matt listened to the pod and read. We hunted down a tiny, nearby village to discover a little hidden surprise in a broken, abandoned castle--Alphons Mucha's 'Slavic Epic'. 20 massive (8* 6 m) canvasses recounting the history of the Slavic people. Truly inspiring and beautiful. Rich pastels swirling in Art Nouveau and realist curves to hopefully inspire pride in all Slavs. Matt's Russian roots felt called to the surface; he felt akin to their search for self and identity despite being the world's underdogs.

Touring cities started to get very old and tiring right about here, so we passed by Vienna and Salzburg (somewhat painfully for me) in favour of Attersee, Austria. Divinity guided us to this heavenly little town in the Salkammergut. If you've seen the 'The Sound of Music' then you have seen it, too. It is the aqua-greyish lake region at the foot of the Austrian Alps. We stayed at Elie's house. A sturdy, sweet 74 year old lady who had lived out her 74 years in her equally sturdy stone home covered in grapevine, hidden in a lush flower and fruit tree garden. We had lovely tomatoes from her garden which she offered us and showered out of buckets in her garden shed. It was exquisite. Lake front camping and we were the only ones there. What more could we ask for? Elie got teary when we left and I almost did as well--we have not found anything as good since.

After a reluctant farewell, we plowed through the Austrian, German, and Swiss Alps. Matt loved this drive. It is stunning. Unlike the Canadian Rockies, people inhabit every inch of the mountains here it seems. The remotest areas have sleepy villages nestled between snow-capped giants. And they all look like a postcard. We stayed in an old, remote Alpen hutte in Bavaria with cowbells tinkling in the front yard. We ended up in Tasch/Zermatt, Switzerland for our 5th anniversary. We spent our day at 3,883 metres--the highest point you can easily get to by gondala. Here the view is unlike anything you've ever seen--you're literally breathless from the altitude and it is snowy Alps for as far as you can see, and every bit of your summer wardrobe is not enough! We followed that up with fondue on the mountainside at the feet of the mighty Matterhorn. But Switzerland's steep prices drove us on to back to France, but not before filling up on chocolate at the border--very important!

Le Puy en Velay, France. I think this is one of the most magical places I've ever been. Long a sacred place since it has distinctive volcanic spires pushing into the sky, Le Puy is still the sacred as the most favoured place to begin the Way of St. James, a 1000 year old, 1600 km pilgrimage that ends at Santiago de Compestela, Spain. Atop each peak is a beautiful chapel, cathedral, or religious statue--a veritable religious skyline. Millions of pilrgims walked the same streets I did there and many still do. I envied the obvious pilgrims I saw who walked with a palatable air of anticipation and hope as they began their arduous walk there. We felt the urge to walk and considered tossing it all out to do this, but after thoughtful meditation felt that our path led a way no one, not even ourselves, could see.

We made our way to Bilbao, Spain--home to the truly cool and famous Guggenheim. A massive, curving titanium beast on the river which is a modern art museum. We pilgrimed there for a day. I loved it. Spain, however, had to be offered up to the chopping block with Morocco in favour of a little sanity. My itinerary was a bit ambitious, and we were ready for flaking. So Spain recieved only two nights but they were sweet--one in a super cute, cliche Spanish villa and another on the beach in our moist tent. We will return to Spain perhaps--when we walk the Way of St. James.

So back to France. Here we feel most comfortable as we can read and communicate best here, plus France does have that certain je ne sais quoi as I said earlier. A couple chilling nights in a chambre d'hote--a B and B en francais. We met a lovely, generous, and very friendly French couple there who invited us to dinner and a stay at their home. We accepted only the first as their home lay in the opposite direction of my longings--Provence--a place that was quite mythical in my mind. Home and inspiration to many artists--Cezanne, Monet, Braque, Picasso, and Van Gogh to name a few. We took our shelter in St. Remy--the town that nurtured Van Gogh after he lopped his ear off. This felt strangely appropriate to me, but Matt didn't see the connection. It also was formerly Glanum, a pre-Roman, and then Roman town, where the goddess of health was worshipped. Alas, the health Van Gogh found there was only temporary as he shot himself in the stomach two months later, but we fared better in our week there. We ate grand salads, drank lots of wine, toured little markets, found a cute internet cafe, toddled about town, read, and generally holidayed. It was perfect. Provence is everything that is written about it. Vineyards interlaced with "gnarled olive trees", giant white-bark maples, spiring Cypresses all bake in hot dry sun on dusty yellow, white earth that feels truly ancient. One can really imagine the Romans stomping through building their aquaducts, theatres, arenas, and temples, which we toured for a day. So much to see here and so little time--five months is not enough!!

And now the Mediterranean beckons. We languished on its shores yesterday. Unable to swim due to beaucoup meduses (lots of stinging jellyfish) sadly. So off we go to the French Riviera, then Italy most likely. Greece and Turkey, much to my psychic agony, may have to be missed this time around as new plans must uproot old longings. (This is the BIG news part.) No we're not pregnant (keep praying!), but we are heading to Africa. Zambia for two weeks at the end of Oct to be specfic. Matt has an opportunity to do volunteer engineering work with a small group of engineers from home. We are totally excited of course, and somewhat nervous too. We hope it'll be a clarifying and meaningful time. While Matt hobnobs with the practical types, I'll be loving up little black babies at an orphanage as I have longed to do since I was about 5.

So that's us. Alive and well in Europe. 3 months in. 2 to go. Reality has long ago crashed through fantasies--and the many opinions offered us on how to conduct our trip. Mohammed said that "travelling is a fragment of hell" and now I understand, but I do not want to come home any earlier. Our little home beckons--a dusty little turbo diesel covered in a fine layer of crumbs and stuffed with strange little tidbits we can't wait to ditch for Africa.

Bonne journee!