Taking a Left When Everyone Else is Taking a Right

I just had a most encouraging and serendipitous experience!

Way back in July by the river in Heidelberg, Germany we met a lively, talkative American, Tom, and a smiling and kind Polish doctor, Agneiszka. They were recumbent biking across Europe. I felt like a lazy slob in comparison to our "eat raw, live long" fellow English speakers, but we were desperate for a little English banter. We chatted, wished each other well in the morning, and never thought we'd see them again.

Today as we stumbled over Florence, Italy's narrow and beautiful streets, we saw two familiar faces on recumbent bikes. Two months later, we chatted again--this time for much longer to share some very funny and similar stories and experiences. As we talked, people openly stood right beside us and gawked at their bikes. I would have felt horrified earlier on in our trip to be so obviously conspicuous as tourists, but today I gloried in our loud English conversation in the middle of the piatza. English conversation has become a truly delicious treat after four months on the road.

We laughed about the wacky Europeans and just how quirky they can be. We commiserated on desperately searching for a camping spot as the dark quickly approaches, while you're lost, and hungry, and tired, and fighting over whether to spend more time looking or spend a few more Euros and stay inside where it's cosy and easy. But the best was being able to relate to other weary, but addicted to freedom, travelers on the experience of the whole abandoning your whole life back at home gig. Very encouraging. Tom firmly told us that we all get so afraid and to be able to make a huge change and take the risk was courageous.

That was what I needed to hear.

In a week, we say goodbye to the roaming, the freedom, the outside and fly back to London for a few days visit before Zambia. (Then back to St. Andrew's for a 10 day baby viewing, ogling, squeezing). And then home. As the whole Matt and Sandra gong show on wheels nears to its end, I am feeling sadness. I am excited to see people again, to be able to communicate again, but I will miss this life. It has been sweet sweet sweet. The last two weeks we hid out on a terrassed mountainside just outside Monaco. We stared at the olive, almond, and cypress trees. We swam every day in a big pool--just us. We listened to Soren--our beloved and talkative donkey who shared our agony so poignantly. We sat, we looked, we listened--from the porch of our charming little bungalow with the best view. It was truly blissful. I cried when we left. So we went back for another week!

Despite the sweetness, that pesky human nature rises up and reminds you that this will all be over very soon--traded in for homelessness and rainy Vancouver days trying to find an apt and jobs. As we've begun to contemplate life back home, I've wondered whether this was all the "right thing to do". Others would have saved the zillion dollars we've spent for their mortgages. Others wouldn't have "run away to find themselves" at an age when it's less cute to do such things. But we took the left... Doubt creeps like a devil into my dolce vita loving heart.

But Tom, the recumbent cyclist from Florida, lifted my heart. We have been courageous, not foolish. We have done what most will only dream about. Yes! It's true. A little truth was far more impacting than the grand, imposing cathedral we stood right beside. It was impressive, sure, 4th biggest in Europe, the world--I can't even remember. But the beauty that people share and give when they connect and encourage each other--even if just strangers--is the only beauty that matters. The only beauty that will survive. This is the real la dolce vita.

So when I feel a little gloomy as I am wont to do, I will remember Tom and Agnieszka and their smiles. When I am overwelmed by all the decisions to be made upon our return, I will relish in the fact that we've a ton of smiles and encouragement waiting for us at home. I sing of true beauty in Michelangelo's hometown.


"if the too obvious, too straight branches of Truth and Good are crushed or amputated and cannot reach the light," then "perhaps the whimsical, unpredictable, unexpected branches of Beauty will make their way through and soar up to that very place and in this way perform the work of all three."
--Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

Float naked.

My best holiday moment has finally happened.

Yesterday morning I padded quietly down to the beach by myself. Only a few people were in the distance, also stealing some quiet moments alone with the Med, since every afternoon it's a busy buzzing flesh-fest. And then I watched the sun rise from in the water, naked--glowing white in the still warm aqua. I floated effortlessly. Stared at the sun streaming along the water onto me. Revelled in the big dome above me. Floating on your back in the water, you can really experience the earth as globe. And I love globes, circles, curves. Usually the the world does look just flat. A new perspective bringing me a little closer to the reality I forget.

And the freedom. Heaven better be like floating naked in the Med. Floating, soaking in the light, enjoying the weightlessness. No feeling is quite like the weightlessness of swimming. The closest thing I've felt lately is having no home, very few belongings, isolated by language--ie. being on this trip. It can be unsettling. To just float and trust--that nothing is going to swim up and bite you in the ass. I think that's why we cling to physical possessions. Piles of weight to tether us to the ground so we don't just float off weightless. Even homeless people gather a cart of stuff--debris from our modern life. We like stuff. It's safe. Keeps us feeling physical instead of floating off into the world of spirit which is just so strange and unknown. But what if all our feelings of dread are for nothing? What if the only thing in the water is Good? We've been able to shake loose for a few months, and it's been freeing, like being naked in public with no shame, just pure enjoyment.

Do it. Float naked. I dare you.

For your Amusement (and a despair debrief)

"Do I have a thorax? Or is that just insects?"
--Matt

If someone forced me to answer truthfully to whether or not I have a sense of humour, I'd have to say "no". But--I do have a healthy sense of amusement (which Matt is constant fodder for thankfully). I thought I'd share some of the things that have made us laugh versus just describe boring ol' Euro-sites at you. Why, just now we are in a internet cafe run by a young dude with an afro and wearing a lab coat and stethescope. Outside is a skeleton in tube socks with a watergun through its pelvis. If that doesn't amuse than what will. Another amusing site was the water fountain outside the Kafka museum in Prague of two moving men holding their manhoods and having a pissing contest. (I'll happily share the video with you.)

Also making me laugh is American army radio in Germany. Or learning of "British stoicism coming to the fore" in a recent thwarted terrorist attack in London thanks to "authorities". Actually, their sensationalistic tabloid news is also a highly amusing read. We recommend listening to local radio while travelling--even if it's not in your language. While in Ireland we listened to horror holiday stories of the Irish in Spain, and just what those dastardly Spanish will do to you--like kick your wallet on subway tracks--but only if you wear socks and sandals. In which case, you deserve it.

Matt and I's soulful duet of "In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight..." is also recommended. Let's just say, Matt's part is all the high pitched squeely parts. Quite amusing trust me. (Hey, gotta come up with some kind of entertainment while motoring all those long miles on the road with Europeans threatening your life with their "slightly more aggresive technique".

Speaking of Europeans, did I mention that it is mandatory to wear a Speedo in some places. I've yet to get Matt's fine form in one. Even the sporty red one I suggested. And the variety of Speedos there are! I never knew! They come in snug, extra snug, and yikes!. In plaid, animal prints, demure black as well as sporty rouge. My personal fave has got to be the extra-elongating version.

And the French. Truly my favorites. The Nederpeople (the Dutch) are friendliest, the Deustchers (Germans--pronounced "doy-chers") you have to envy because no matter where you go, they're already there--esp on mountaintops. I swear they are born with little hiking boots on. But the French penchant for driving, creative parking, lively banter, inspiring smoking, and pissy behaviour in general is definitely amusing. We've witnessed screaming conversations on buses, on street corners, emitting from phone booths. We like to imagine the ones we encountered in the day who deserve the "baguette beating". (You can imagine.)

Maybe these are all "you have to be there" moments. Hmmm... one last try. Matt and I have taken up haiku writing. Why?

Feelings caught briefly--
discipline good for roving
Euro travellers.

You want to read more don't you??

Sticky butterfly feet
cling to old, familiar ways--
butterfly wings soar.

Ok. Enough with the funny/ not so funny.

A debrief on the despair/collage email is in order, since I think I caused some misunderstanding.(Plus, as Ken and Sonya say, I am the debrief queen.) Despair is a useful state to be born and lived through insofar as it propels us to faith--necessary in life whether one is religious or not. A caterpillar experiences death as it knows itself to become what it is meant to be, a butterfly. The cocoon is a tool, but a dark one. Yet, the darkness must be born. Once trapped inside, it must rely on faith. But we are not caterpillars. Instead we have to choose the cocoon ourselves. And that is something I am not always so happy about, nor exceptionally good at.

(Am I better understood now?)

The Other Boss

So it seems that a certain someone has been more prolific than me. I don't hope to catch up. The pictures say it so much better even if I'm not the one taking them. Truth be told, I can't even claim to be in Zen-mode taking in all the sights and having amazing revelations. The revelations are small and incremental. The trick it seems is to capture and implement the truth revealed. I'm pretty sure I could spend the rest of my life putting into practice the truth revealed until now.
Humility seems to be the order of the day.
Did I mention my travel partner? She is wonderfully patient with me as I circle round on my little cart. God has truly blessed me.
Now that the halfway mark is a distant memory, the questions that prompted us to go on this trip start to rear their heads. I feel like I must get down to business and do some serious reflecting and concluding otherwise I'll have nothing to show for the time away and the money spent. But I'm going to fight that sense of panic with everything in me. I may have left thinking this trip was about some big direction-- about planning out the rest of our lives so we could live them without doubt. But that is definitely not what it's about because there's no faith in that and this life is not a one-time opportunity to get it right (sorry Eminem).

Today (and tomorrow) will be lived seeking the grace, love and direction for it.

and then there's forgiveness... this trip seems to have a few themes for me so far: forgiveness, honesty, submission. These are the things I'm learning about not my passions and vocation. and that is just fine.

matt