What a trip. Left Saint Georges des Coteaux at six am. Boarded train to La Rochelle at six thirty. Because of the great storm that hit the Atlantic coast, the train could no longer go to La Rochelle, so we stop in Rochefort. Wait for a bus. Bus arrives in La Rochelle a bit past seven fifteen. wait. Get a coffee and croissant, three dollars equivalent. Get a newspaper. Montpelier, number one city in France to live in. Polish President is mourned over. Walk around a bit, read Gravity's Rainbow a bit. Text message my carpool ride, no idea what car she is driving. Smoke a cigarette with a fellow carpooler who is going to Bordeaux. My carpool host pulls up, we wait for everyone, get in the car. I drift in and out of sleep half of the drive until we get out for a pee pee break. Then I am more awake, talk a bit with another passenger, snack, read newspaper.
Arrive in Paris after approximately four and a half hours. Get out at the south end of the city, go and eat Vietnamese. Walk brisquely towards Cathedral Notre Dame, rapidly taking in the sights and sounds. The city reminds me of Rome, full of tourists, similar architecture. Enter the Cathedral with my backpack even though there are signs in six languages saying backpacks are forbidden. I decide to just act normal and do it anyways. As a result of my time limit in the city and my general state of mind, I can't bring myself to slow down and see if there is something to soak in in the Cathedral. By now, sorry, all these Catholic Churches seem the same, candles, donation boxes, holy water basins for crossing yourself when you enter, most people there just to see the art and architecture superficially, probably more just to tell others they were there, take a few pictures. I look for where I can climb the tower to the top, but don't find it. Exit. Ok, let us find the Eiffel Tower. Two hours or so left. Walk fast, keep checking map. Hungry, lets find a bakery on the way. Walk along the river, keep going east, east east. Finally I see the tower in the distance, behind countless buildings. Find a bakery, get a loaf of bread. Find the park surrounding the Eiffel Tower, sit and eat. Ask the man beside me where the nearest subway station is. Head for it, get a ticket, find out I have to go to another station 400 meters away. I go, make my way to the rendezvous station for my next carpool ride. Find him. We wait for almost an hour for another passenger, who went to the wrong station. Finally he makes it, and then we are stuck in traffic for fourty five minutes.
When we are on the road, the driver and late passenger, both Maghreb Arabs, one from Morrocco, the other Algerian, enter animated, rapid conversation about the issues between their countries, the difficulties of life in France for Arab immigrants, racism, Paternal pressure and strictness. I find it very interesting, and try my hardest to understand the rapid, accented French, often sounding like a FAMAS (The standard French sub-machine gun used in the military). Start to realize I am going to be late. Will there still be a train from Brussels, our destination, to Antwerp, after midnight? I desperately fire off text messages to everyone I have the number for to ask if they can check the internet.
We arrive, and one passenger who I had amiable conversations with inbetween the machine gun fire, a fellow organic agriculture enthusiast, accompanied me to discover that I missed the last train by half an hour. What am I going to do now? I don't know, but I need internet access to tell my uncle not to worry about me and not to wait at the Antwerp station for me. Vivien, the fellow passenger, invites me to stay at his cohouse, where I could sleep on a couch. We make our way there, and I meet a bunch of his roommates. Everyone smokes tobacco and marijuana mixed spliffs at a rate of one every fourty five minutes, munching on junk food and downing tiny coca cola cans. We talk, joke, I speak lots of French. I notice how tiring it is for them to listen to me when I try to articulate myself in French. They are nice and polite. Finally I sleep at 4pm, and wake up at nine. Going to sleep late doesn't feel good. Coffee, breakfast, conversation, where I learn of the various ways these guys avoid taxes and get paid for unworked hours and get money from the government when they shouldn't and how they religiously watch the simpsons until eleven thirty am. I get their contact info. Who knows? Then Vivien and two of his roommates accompany me to the station, and I wait in line with various foreigners to get a ticket.
Take the train, with a smooching couple sitting behind me. They smooch in a terribly irritating way the whole ride to Antwerpen. My pet peeve is when people eat with their mouth open, making sucking noises. The kissing was very similar. I even start to curse softly under my breath. Not that bad, don't sweat the small stuff. We arrive in the first station of Antwerp, but I need to wait to get off at the second. The doors open briefly and then close. The train doesn't move. Everyone assumes it will go to the next station, and there are no announcements. We discover that the train is going to go back to Brussels. All these African ladies in exotic clothing start panicking and making a big fuss. The doors don't open. Increased panic. I decide to let them get me out of this mess ("bordell" in French, I am frequently reminded by an elderly French lady). They catch the attention of a train conductor, who doesn't know how to speak French, or, considering what I have heard of the Flemish from the Francophones so far, chooses not to. He is bombarded by aggressive, nervous African female energy and feebly responds by opening the door. He looks like he wishes he was at home watching TV drinking good beer.
We wait for the proper train, and board it. I sit down, and three of the loudest African ladies sit in the surrounding seats. I try to listen to what they say, but it is a sort of pidgin French. I wonder where they are from. I like them. We arrive in Antwerp, and I see my family in the distance up a hundred steps waving at me.
Antwerpen is quite similar to Toronto. Multicultural, cold weather, efficient, social aid actually aids. I am here with my uncle, Stefano, working his butt off to support his baby boy Phillip and wife Sophie. They made a big risk and moved here from Pescara, Italy, where there was no future for them. Here, they are closer to Stefano's other kids, Alessio and Roxanne, who are both in their early twenties and live in and outside of Amsterdam.
A tiny country Belgium, few hours from one end to the other. Famous for beers, actually probably has the most beers in comparison to any other country in the world. In the south French is spoken, in the north Dutch and Flemish, quite proudly. In Brussels, the capital of Europe and of Belgium, French is dominant, although it is surrounded by Flemish country. So far, all the Brusselites I have spoken to consider the Flemish proud of their language and identity distinct from the Francophones, in some ways like the Quebeckers are in comparison to Anglophone Canada.
A country with an average of perhaps 300 days a year of rainfall. Apparently the only wild spot left is in the south near the French frontier. I asked Sophie, a native Kenyan from Kisumu, if she missed Kenya. She said she misses it right now, so much, in a way she can't express. Then I asked if it is worth it to live in a cold, foreign country without nice beaches and wild spaces and animals, which has good schooling, health care, social services, economy, in comparison with Kenya, where it is warm, beautiful, wild, but with limited infrastructure, health care, opportunities. She said to me the health care is the most important factor. If you lived in Kenya but had enough money that if you needed to you could immediately hop on a plane to Europe for medical attention, it would be worth it. But otherwise, it is worth it to live in Belgium, or other northern European countries similar, for that matter. Kenya is nice to vacation in. She perhaps almost died of a persistent pneumonia which infected her right lung and was not properly treated for a long time until she went to the doctor in Antwerp. He obliged her to take strong antibiotics immediately, and now she can breathe well, is starting to regain her appetite, and is heading from darkness to light. Phillip has asthma. This is where she is coming from with her perspective of the importance of good health care.
Us young, invincible, adventurous ones might have the opposite perspective (at least I have) about where to live, but in recent years I am starting to experience the limits to my invincibility, and starting to be more cautious.
Nonna is here too, fantastic nonna, seventy five or so years old, still like she was since I can remember, cooking like every nonna should, loving interacting with and caring for little Phillip.
Talk to you soon,
Maurizio
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Vietnamese-Parisien:Italo-Canadian-Welsh-Antwerpen
I write from a cyber cafe. Shaj Mahal, something like that. Rue d'Italy. South Paris. Got time until my ride to Brussels. Ate Vietnamese for lunch. 4 different sorts of hot sauce. Went to town. Sorry stomache! Noodles. Peanuts. Runny nose. That omnipresent white cartoon kitty statue with Chinese writing along it on a vertical axis. A big bronze-coloured happy fat Buddha with arms raised in the air, holding bags of candy in each hand. An uncanny ecstatic smile on his face. Shrimps, chicken, nose really running, lips burning, tongue burning. Cafe to finish it off: for 'digestion'. I learned coffee, like hard liquor after a meal doesn't âctually help digestion, but pauses digestion in order to quickly digest the caffeine or alcohol, and then continues later on. Five hour car ride from La Rochelle. Drive reminded me of an ex-girlfriend, but has the name of my current one. Tanned, tattooed, dark hair, makeup, MTV top20 from the past five years playing the whole time. Meditated a bit, but man, i've really lost the willpower and motivation. When I finally get around to it, I will have a load to bring into balance. Reading Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon. What a writing style. Very difficult to get into, to get accustomed to. Informal, psychedelic, stream-of-consciousness, dark comedy. Brilliant, I think.
Planning to hike up the Cathedral of Notre Dame, heard of a great view. Looking forward to nonna's cooking, little Phillip's sausage toes and fingers, Sophie's delightful Kenyan-English accent, and Stefano's sarcastic sense of humor. Antwerpen, I'm coming!
Planning to hike up the Cathedral of Notre Dame, heard of a great view. Looking forward to nonna's cooking, little Phillip's sausage toes and fingers, Sophie's delightful Kenyan-English accent, and Stefano's sarcastic sense of humor. Antwerpen, I'm coming!
Monday, April 12, 2010
Weekend Update
Over the couse of the last seven days, I single-dug a good portion of the backyard garden, spread manure, and planted 30 strawberry plants, two rows of onions and two rows of shallots. Very satisfying work.
Sunday, Steph and I went to her friend’s baby’s baptism. It was my first baptism, as not even I was baptized. Cold church. Beautiful, tall arching ceiling. Vibrant stained-glass windows. A hundred people seated, singing together for Mass. Two babies will be baptized today. The priest speaks, and the audience respond on que at the right times with ‘amen’ or by manually crossing their chests, or breaking into choir. It was a bit chaotic, lots of people, not knowing where to sit (Steph and I and Maria, our friend, sat on the wrong side of the aisle. Both babies refused or misunderstood the command of the priest to put the holy water on their own foreheads, and both babies cried after their parents dipped their heads down to the water and the priest soaked their hair.
After there was the buffet and party, lots of fun, decent food. Lots of wine and bubbling wine going around. Met some older folks who were excited about various ecologically-friendly alternative initiatives springing up in their area concerning agriculture and construction. Met a couple who informed Steph and I about the various free schools which offer instruction in tradeskills, including ‘Les Compagnons’, a world-famous school of high quality. I will look into this last school.
When I return from Belgium I will do a two week volunteer stage with a local renewable energy installation company. After I will decide : carpentry (ecoconstruction) or electricity (renewable energy).
Today is Monday, and in less than twenty four hours I will embark on my trip to Antwerp, Belgium. Not much money in my pocket, but well-fed, and well-enough equipped with one of the two languages spoken in Belgium (French).
In the back of my mind, I consider the scenario of shit hitting the fan in the future, in terms of economic collapse, food-system collapse, social program-collapse, unemployment, rioting, etc. And so I subject every idea for my future to criticism from this collapse scenario point of view. Stephanie and I have agreed that if things get hairy, we will farm. Here or back in Ontario, where I already have a bit of a network. Learning electricity or carpentry will be very useful in almost any possible future scenario, for earning money with a stable job, and for learning DIY (do it yourself) skills for maintaining and repairing a house, or building a new one. I would like to learn both, but which one to pursue first, which one to make into a ‘career’ ?
What do you guys and girls think ?
Write to you from Belgium !
Cheers,
Maurizio
Sunday, Steph and I went to her friend’s baby’s baptism. It was my first baptism, as not even I was baptized. Cold church. Beautiful, tall arching ceiling. Vibrant stained-glass windows. A hundred people seated, singing together for Mass. Two babies will be baptized today. The priest speaks, and the audience respond on que at the right times with ‘amen’ or by manually crossing their chests, or breaking into choir. It was a bit chaotic, lots of people, not knowing where to sit (Steph and I and Maria, our friend, sat on the wrong side of the aisle. Both babies refused or misunderstood the command of the priest to put the holy water on their own foreheads, and both babies cried after their parents dipped their heads down to the water and the priest soaked their hair.
After there was the buffet and party, lots of fun, decent food. Lots of wine and bubbling wine going around. Met some older folks who were excited about various ecologically-friendly alternative initiatives springing up in their area concerning agriculture and construction. Met a couple who informed Steph and I about the various free schools which offer instruction in tradeskills, including ‘Les Compagnons’, a world-famous school of high quality. I will look into this last school.
When I return from Belgium I will do a two week volunteer stage with a local renewable energy installation company. After I will decide : carpentry (ecoconstruction) or electricity (renewable energy).
Today is Monday, and in less than twenty four hours I will embark on my trip to Antwerp, Belgium. Not much money in my pocket, but well-fed, and well-enough equipped with one of the two languages spoken in Belgium (French).
In the back of my mind, I consider the scenario of shit hitting the fan in the future, in terms of economic collapse, food-system collapse, social program-collapse, unemployment, rioting, etc. And so I subject every idea for my future to criticism from this collapse scenario point of view. Stephanie and I have agreed that if things get hairy, we will farm. Here or back in Ontario, where I already have a bit of a network. Learning electricity or carpentry will be very useful in almost any possible future scenario, for earning money with a stable job, and for learning DIY (do it yourself) skills for maintaining and repairing a house, or building a new one. I would like to learn both, but which one to pursue first, which one to make into a ‘career’ ?
What do you guys and girls think ?
Write to you from Belgium !
Cheers,
Maurizio
...and amputate
"and amputate", read the secret code I was supposed to type in to verify that I was not a robot trying to create mayhem on facebook before it allowed me to send the message. What comes to mind, as I ponder those two words randomly generated by a robot, is last wednesday evening, after my moped adventure #2, when I went to a local gym to play wheelchair basketball. Each week Stephanie's brother had mentioned it, encouraged us to come and try it. He is not physically handicapped, but he is looking to work in the field of social care for handicapped people (he is particularily passionate about his experience working with blind people). We arrived at nine pm, and there were four others out there on the court with these slick looking wheelchairs booting it up and downcourt, managing to dribble sometimes. I grabbed a ball and jumped into a conventional-looking wheelchair after watching for a few minutes. I later found a better, sporty one, and shot some hoops. It was hard, being so low to the ground and being unable to jump or at least hop while shooting. I developed a nasty blister on my right hand after an hour of playing.
I used to play, stopped in early high school. I was always a center. Now, with my height, I would be a point guard, maybe a small guard. Big learning curve that would be.
I played American football in my last year of high school (the 5th; the victory lap). I was defensive end, the second biggest position. My job was to move my 200 pound mass forward at the opposing defensive end and crash into him and try to survive and slide around him to get past him. I was strong: Our center, the biggest position, was probably 320 pounds and when we tried to push eachother past a line, heads to shoulders, we were at a deadlock. The guys I faced were big too, all at least as heavy as me, many taller and heavier. When I inquired about continuing to play football in university, I discovered that defensive ends are on average 250 pounds, many of them much heavier. I briefly contemplated gaining 50 pounds of muscle, realized what an undertaking that would be (my testosterone advisor jumped out of his chair at the fantasy of being as big as Arnold Schwarzenegger), and instead ended up studying philosophy.
Anyway, so moped adventure no. 2 was fantastic. I booted it up to 65 km per hour on the big little roads, map in my pocket, water bottle in my backpack, sporting some cool looking prescription lenses that actually made me look like Arnold (Arnold on a moped would be priceless). I ended up taking the bigger road into town, and got off at the wrong turn at the roundabout, but made my way to the center of Saintes. There, as I was checking the map again, just as I discovered where I was and where I had to go, a polite gentleman walking by asked me if I needed help. I said okay, and for the next eight minutes he blew his mind trying to understand the map, ending up being more lost than I was. Thanks. Before I could put the map back, an elderly gentleman driving stopped to help me. He spent 30 seconds looking at the map and told me to get onto the moped and follow his car. I did, and then he stopped and looked at the map for another 5 minutes, as if he was redrawing it in its entirety on the inside of his visual cortex, and then he told me to take a left. Two minutes later I arrived. I ate lunch with Christophe, Steph's brother, helped him move around some furniture while hardwood flooring was being installed, and he helped me call some renewable energy installation enterprises to volunteer with. I was very greatful. Stephanie was upset when she realized that I moped'ed into town without insurance, and so we heaved the bike into Christophe's trunk and he drove me back to St Georges des Coteaux. We did a bit of shopping, and the moped leaked essence in his trunk, he fed his fish and cleaned the sponge filter, and said goodbye.
I proceeded to make Fettuccine Alfredo. Fantastic(o). I also made chocolate cake. We had a guest that eve for wine, dine and vipassana meditation, a bloke we met at the retreat back in March. I showed him how to do Aikido shovelling in the backyard garden (Jonathan from Winnipeg who interned at Whole Circle for season 2009 didn't patent that skill or copywrite that name yet, but don't take advantage).
Cheers,
Maurizio
I used to play, stopped in early high school. I was always a center. Now, with my height, I would be a point guard, maybe a small guard. Big learning curve that would be.
I played American football in my last year of high school (the 5th; the victory lap). I was defensive end, the second biggest position. My job was to move my 200 pound mass forward at the opposing defensive end and crash into him and try to survive and slide around him to get past him. I was strong: Our center, the biggest position, was probably 320 pounds and when we tried to push eachother past a line, heads to shoulders, we were at a deadlock. The guys I faced were big too, all at least as heavy as me, many taller and heavier. When I inquired about continuing to play football in university, I discovered that defensive ends are on average 250 pounds, many of them much heavier. I briefly contemplated gaining 50 pounds of muscle, realized what an undertaking that would be (my testosterone advisor jumped out of his chair at the fantasy of being as big as Arnold Schwarzenegger), and instead ended up studying philosophy.
Anyway, so moped adventure no. 2 was fantastic. I booted it up to 65 km per hour on the big little roads, map in my pocket, water bottle in my backpack, sporting some cool looking prescription lenses that actually made me look like Arnold (Arnold on a moped would be priceless). I ended up taking the bigger road into town, and got off at the wrong turn at the roundabout, but made my way to the center of Saintes. There, as I was checking the map again, just as I discovered where I was and where I had to go, a polite gentleman walking by asked me if I needed help. I said okay, and for the next eight minutes he blew his mind trying to understand the map, ending up being more lost than I was. Thanks. Before I could put the map back, an elderly gentleman driving stopped to help me. He spent 30 seconds looking at the map and told me to get onto the moped and follow his car. I did, and then he stopped and looked at the map for another 5 minutes, as if he was redrawing it in its entirety on the inside of his visual cortex, and then he told me to take a left. Two minutes later I arrived. I ate lunch with Christophe, Steph's brother, helped him move around some furniture while hardwood flooring was being installed, and he helped me call some renewable energy installation enterprises to volunteer with. I was very greatful. Stephanie was upset when she realized that I moped'ed into town without insurance, and so we heaved the bike into Christophe's trunk and he drove me back to St Georges des Coteaux. We did a bit of shopping, and the moped leaked essence in his trunk, he fed his fish and cleaned the sponge filter, and said goodbye.
I proceeded to make Fettuccine Alfredo. Fantastic(o). I also made chocolate cake. We had a guest that eve for wine, dine and vipassana meditation, a bloke we met at the retreat back in March. I showed him how to do Aikido shovelling in the backyard garden (Jonathan from Winnipeg who interned at Whole Circle for season 2009 didn't patent that skill or copywrite that name yet, but don't take advantage).
Cheers,
Maurizio
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Moped Adventure #1
Today, I test out my moped and my memory and instincts on a little adventure. First I will go and
find a bakery beside the post office in Saint Georges des Coteaux, the
little village. Then a small supermarket in the little village we live
in, to find some fettuccine and bread. Then to the big town Saintes,
to find Stephanie's brother's apartment, where he will help me call
some enterprises for a volunteer opportunity. Then back home to clean
windows, dishes, and such. It is cloudy, and threatening to rain
today. If it doesn't, I will plant some onions or schallots.
Moped Adventure #1
Was Saturday morning. Grey, cold morning, lots of wind, probably ten
degrees. We drove to the dealership, MotoSport or something like that.
I chose a helmet, the mechanic showed me the mixture for the moped and
how to start the ignition, and off I went, around the tiny roundabout,
behind a warehouse, and back, for a little test. Easy to control. So
then We decided Stephanie will go in front of me in her car. Off we
went. I quickly realized the power of a 50 cc engine. Not much. After
45 km per hour, the engine started sounding like it was suffering,
like a huge humming bumblebee who is too good at finding pollen,
struggling with his tiny wings under his huge load.
Around a roundabout. Wow, it was my first roundabout! They are useful,
because if you don't know where to turn next, you can keep going in
circles until you make a decision. Onto the big road, and Stephanie is
pulling back hard on the reigns of her Renault, keeping it at around
60 km, probably staring at the rearview mirror more often than not. A
car comes behind me, and I can't go any faster! Sorry! I try to stay
to the right of the lane, but not too close to the edge, don't want to
wipe out (again...see this isn't really my first moped adventure...).
Onto the big road towards the little village. A few cars pile up
behind me, no honking or cursing, this isn't Roma. They wait a bit and
then overtake me. I push the moped, 55! We start to go uphill, 45. The
driver behind Stephanie doesn't get it: this little moped demands a
little convoy, and this stranger has just disrupted it! They soon
overtake Stephanie, as she pulls over to the side of the road to wait
for me. I catch up, and pass her, and then pull over.
She pulls back onto the road, and passes me, and I accelerate with the
mighty little roar of the 50cc! The same routine continues for a few
kilometers, and then we enter the village of Saint Georges des
Coteaux. narrow streets, a few turns, by this point my hands are damn
cold. She pulls over infront of the post office. I pull over behind
her. She steps out, tells me to turn off the engine.
Okay, I put the tiger to sleep. I engage the kickstand as she
approaches the front door of the little post office. It's closed. Oh
well. Now, for the first time in my life, I try to start a moped of
this kind. Hold the left lever, pull the right lever as I push on the
left pedal with my foot. Nothing, the moped moves forward as I push
the pedal, and it is hard to push! I try again, again, again, this
time pushing the right pedal. I start to get a little hot. Stephanie
comes over and tries, and she discovers how hard it is to push the
pedal.
She crosses the street looking for someone to come and help. I try not
to get embarrassed, and keep trying. She comes back and tries a few
times. Oh well, I can just walk it back, not too far to the house,
right? She agrees after five more minutes. Do you know where to go? At
this point I am tired, mentally foggy and congested, frustrated and
flushed. I think so. She tells me to go back, make a left into the
park, cross the park. I say okay, how about you drive home and then
start walking towards the park, and I will see you. She says it's real
easy, we have done it many times! Yes, but when I don't have to steer,
my mind goes absent too easily. Ok, I will find it.
She takes off, and I turn the moped around. It is pretty heavy, and
has a lot of resistance. I start pushing it, struggling with it. I hit
my ankle on the pedal. We go, 2km per hour. To the left, into the
park, onto the path riddled with huge water puddles, dodging the
puddles. I choose one path instead of the other. After ten meters, it
has a massive puddle. I go into the grass around it. Heavy, and slow
going. No more paths, I take it into the football field.
Cold, cold hands. Onto the driveway, through the parking lot, and I
see Stephanie. She arrives, and points to a road to the left. That was
the road I meant you should take. Oh well, I got a workout. She offers
to push the moped for me. She soon realizes how difficult it is. She
gives it a good try, and after 50 meters she hands it back to me,
flustered. I lean into it.
At this point, I am in a fragile emotional state. My mind is upset
like a cat who has been prodded too many times, restless, glaring,
tail flicking. I feel like a child. Should have started the moped
myself back at the dealership. Why is it so slow? What am I doing
here? I wouldn't have this state of helplessness back home. Why do I
take the hard route? I start to gain some real independence, and then
I run and look for a French teat to feed on, warm and cozy in a French
nest. It is hard to talk to Stephanie, hard to talk at all, without
erupting with emotion. I speak slowly and with great brevity.
We arrive at the house, I put it into the garage, and go into the
house. I am close to tears, but I hold it in. How scary it would be to
burst into tears infront of Stephanie over something small like this!
Hold it in. I know it's bad, but the habit takes over. Infront of a
movie screen, tears flow easier.
She senses I am not okay, and we start to talk. I say I feel like a
child, helpless, dependant. We start to prepare lunch.
We start to talk about what to study. She doesn't know what to study.
All of her friends are unhappy with their careers, hardly making above
minimum wage. I start to talk about tradeskills, and why they provide
secure jobs. They are necessary services, like Police and Hospital.
When the economy goes bad, priviledged jobs get threatened. What I
mean is that in the service sector, personal coaches and teachers and
secretaries and such, their jobs are not as necessary to the
functioning of society as tradeskills. Common folk, on average, don't
know how to build, repair or maintain their houses or the engines of
their vehicles. Tradeskills are necessary, like farming. Other jobs,
many of the more prestigious ones that require considerable years of
post-secondary education and refinement of the abstract mind, are far
more expendable. Look today, here, during the crisis, who is having a
hard time finding work? I talk for a while, at a constant pace,
imbalanced, a compensation for my lack of communication skills within
the previous half hour. The damn of frustration that built up in my
throat burst, and the waters of communicative energy burst forward and
outwards.
She laughs, imagining herself as a plumber. Laugh, but more and more
women are getting into tradeskills! She starts to think. By this time
I have regained a good level of energy and emotional positivity.
Later on in the day, we go to COOP, the local small supermarket. At
the butcher's counter, a man in line tells a little story on how he
saw a beautiful 30something year old woman who was doing a volunteer
period in Masonry. He was confused. The young, fat apprentice butcher
behind the counter, looking quite natural in his dirty white apron,
obviously a man who decided to go and work where the gold is, he said
that it's a pity, a woman like that doing a job like that. Personally,
I thought it would be a very sexy thing, something to drive certain
men crazy with lust, to see a beautiful woman in overalls, sweating
and dirty, heaving huge blocks of concrete around.
This little account of GI Jane was a telling one. It indicated to me
that the economic state of society, coupled with the steps made in the
direction of liberality concerning gender and other topics, was
breeding catalysts for people, catalysts that push them into thinking
outside of the box, breaking taboos and cultural baggage in the quest
of a good earning. I consider it exciting.
We returned to the house, Stephanie called her dad to ask how to start
the moped. I tried not to imagine him reacting surprised at my lack of
practical ability, and succeeded in sidestepping personal
embarassement. Make sure the kickstand is engaged, so the back wheel
doesn't move. Of course! We rush to the garage and take turns trying.
Finally, My left thigh painfully full of lactic acid, I get the moped
started. I rev the engine, and turn it off. I try to start it again.
Third time, it starts again. Yeah!
Cheers,
Maurizio
find a bakery beside the post office in Saint Georges des Coteaux, the
little village. Then a small supermarket in the little village we live
in, to find some fettuccine and bread. Then to the big town Saintes,
to find Stephanie's brother's apartment, where he will help me call
some enterprises for a volunteer opportunity. Then back home to clean
windows, dishes, and such. It is cloudy, and threatening to rain
today. If it doesn't, I will plant some onions or schallots.
Moped Adventure #1
Was Saturday morning. Grey, cold morning, lots of wind, probably ten
degrees. We drove to the dealership, MotoSport or something like that.
I chose a helmet, the mechanic showed me the mixture for the moped and
how to start the ignition, and off I went, around the tiny roundabout,
behind a warehouse, and back, for a little test. Easy to control. So
then We decided Stephanie will go in front of me in her car. Off we
went. I quickly realized the power of a 50 cc engine. Not much. After
45 km per hour, the engine started sounding like it was suffering,
like a huge humming bumblebee who is too good at finding pollen,
struggling with his tiny wings under his huge load.
Around a roundabout. Wow, it was my first roundabout! They are useful,
because if you don't know where to turn next, you can keep going in
circles until you make a decision. Onto the big road, and Stephanie is
pulling back hard on the reigns of her Renault, keeping it at around
60 km, probably staring at the rearview mirror more often than not. A
car comes behind me, and I can't go any faster! Sorry! I try to stay
to the right of the lane, but not too close to the edge, don't want to
wipe out (again...see this isn't really my first moped adventure...).
Onto the big road towards the little village. A few cars pile up
behind me, no honking or cursing, this isn't Roma. They wait a bit and
then overtake me. I push the moped, 55! We start to go uphill, 45. The
driver behind Stephanie doesn't get it: this little moped demands a
little convoy, and this stranger has just disrupted it! They soon
overtake Stephanie, as she pulls over to the side of the road to wait
for me. I catch up, and pass her, and then pull over.
She pulls back onto the road, and passes me, and I accelerate with the
mighty little roar of the 50cc! The same routine continues for a few
kilometers, and then we enter the village of Saint Georges des
Coteaux. narrow streets, a few turns, by this point my hands are damn
cold. She pulls over infront of the post office. I pull over behind
her. She steps out, tells me to turn off the engine.
Okay, I put the tiger to sleep. I engage the kickstand as she
approaches the front door of the little post office. It's closed. Oh
well. Now, for the first time in my life, I try to start a moped of
this kind. Hold the left lever, pull the right lever as I push on the
left pedal with my foot. Nothing, the moped moves forward as I push
the pedal, and it is hard to push! I try again, again, again, this
time pushing the right pedal. I start to get a little hot. Stephanie
comes over and tries, and she discovers how hard it is to push the
pedal.
She crosses the street looking for someone to come and help. I try not
to get embarrassed, and keep trying. She comes back and tries a few
times. Oh well, I can just walk it back, not too far to the house,
right? She agrees after five more minutes. Do you know where to go? At
this point I am tired, mentally foggy and congested, frustrated and
flushed. I think so. She tells me to go back, make a left into the
park, cross the park. I say okay, how about you drive home and then
start walking towards the park, and I will see you. She says it's real
easy, we have done it many times! Yes, but when I don't have to steer,
my mind goes absent too easily. Ok, I will find it.
She takes off, and I turn the moped around. It is pretty heavy, and
has a lot of resistance. I start pushing it, struggling with it. I hit
my ankle on the pedal. We go, 2km per hour. To the left, into the
park, onto the path riddled with huge water puddles, dodging the
puddles. I choose one path instead of the other. After ten meters, it
has a massive puddle. I go into the grass around it. Heavy, and slow
going. No more paths, I take it into the football field.
Cold, cold hands. Onto the driveway, through the parking lot, and I
see Stephanie. She arrives, and points to a road to the left. That was
the road I meant you should take. Oh well, I got a workout. She offers
to push the moped for me. She soon realizes how difficult it is. She
gives it a good try, and after 50 meters she hands it back to me,
flustered. I lean into it.
At this point, I am in a fragile emotional state. My mind is upset
like a cat who has been prodded too many times, restless, glaring,
tail flicking. I feel like a child. Should have started the moped
myself back at the dealership. Why is it so slow? What am I doing
here? I wouldn't have this state of helplessness back home. Why do I
take the hard route? I start to gain some real independence, and then
I run and look for a French teat to feed on, warm and cozy in a French
nest. It is hard to talk to Stephanie, hard to talk at all, without
erupting with emotion. I speak slowly and with great brevity.
We arrive at the house, I put it into the garage, and go into the
house. I am close to tears, but I hold it in. How scary it would be to
burst into tears infront of Stephanie over something small like this!
Hold it in. I know it's bad, but the habit takes over. Infront of a
movie screen, tears flow easier.
She senses I am not okay, and we start to talk. I say I feel like a
child, helpless, dependant. We start to prepare lunch.
We start to talk about what to study. She doesn't know what to study.
All of her friends are unhappy with their careers, hardly making above
minimum wage. I start to talk about tradeskills, and why they provide
secure jobs. They are necessary services, like Police and Hospital.
When the economy goes bad, priviledged jobs get threatened. What I
mean is that in the service sector, personal coaches and teachers and
secretaries and such, their jobs are not as necessary to the
functioning of society as tradeskills. Common folk, on average, don't
know how to build, repair or maintain their houses or the engines of
their vehicles. Tradeskills are necessary, like farming. Other jobs,
many of the more prestigious ones that require considerable years of
post-secondary education and refinement of the abstract mind, are far
more expendable. Look today, here, during the crisis, who is having a
hard time finding work? I talk for a while, at a constant pace,
imbalanced, a compensation for my lack of communication skills within
the previous half hour. The damn of frustration that built up in my
throat burst, and the waters of communicative energy burst forward and
outwards.
She laughs, imagining herself as a plumber. Laugh, but more and more
women are getting into tradeskills! She starts to think. By this time
I have regained a good level of energy and emotional positivity.
Later on in the day, we go to COOP, the local small supermarket. At
the butcher's counter, a man in line tells a little story on how he
saw a beautiful 30something year old woman who was doing a volunteer
period in Masonry. He was confused. The young, fat apprentice butcher
behind the counter, looking quite natural in his dirty white apron,
obviously a man who decided to go and work where the gold is, he said
that it's a pity, a woman like that doing a job like that. Personally,
I thought it would be a very sexy thing, something to drive certain
men crazy with lust, to see a beautiful woman in overalls, sweating
and dirty, heaving huge blocks of concrete around.
This little account of GI Jane was a telling one. It indicated to me
that the economic state of society, coupled with the steps made in the
direction of liberality concerning gender and other topics, was
breeding catalysts for people, catalysts that push them into thinking
outside of the box, breaking taboos and cultural baggage in the quest
of a good earning. I consider it exciting.
We returned to the house, Stephanie called her dad to ask how to start
the moped. I tried not to imagine him reacting surprised at my lack of
practical ability, and succeeded in sidestepping personal
embarassement. Make sure the kickstand is engaged, so the back wheel
doesn't move. Of course! We rush to the garage and take turns trying.
Finally, My left thigh painfully full of lactic acid, I get the moped
started. I rev the engine, and turn it off. I try to start it again.
Third time, it starts again. Yeah!
Cheers,
Maurizio
Friday, April 2, 2010
Banana Sushi
I made sushi for the family last night. With the help of Stephanie, it took 2.5 hours ! It was the first time I have made sushi from start to finish, but they don’t know that ! I winged it well. I was even bold enough to fry some bananais and roll up morcels of that ! People seemed to like it. It is a trick to get the right ratio of rice to nori, and rice to other toppings. It is fun.
Yesterday Jean Luc (Steph’s father) asked me if I had any regrets about leaving Whole Village. I told him I liked it there, but if I went back this year, I would still be an apprentice, which is fine, except that I need to make more money than I was making as an apprentice (I don’t want to scare you by dividing total earnings by total hours worked). Also, as I have written earlier, I consider it a very good idea to learn some practical skills concerning construction and maintenance of houses. It is a sector that has not been hurt by the crisis, and a sector which continues to be undermanned (and underwomaned for sure). It is a sector which will necessarily continue to be relevant into most possible future outcomes, as long as anything is relevant. I then told Jean Luc about Yohanne, the senior manager of Whole Circle Farm, where Abhi is co-managing this season, and his offer for me to co-manage the farm. This was surely a great opportunity, and I started to feel some regret as I told Stephanie’s father about that. I took a difficult path, trying to inject myself into a different culture, in a country already quite saturated in work and hurting from the crisis. He (Jean Luc) said to me that this is good, because if things don’t work out in France for me, I can return to Canada and explore this opportunity. I am not sure if the door will still be open, but similar doors may be.
The question is : is it worth it to start a new path, one that will also initially not include much earning of money, but provide a more reasonable opportunity to make a reasonable income, or to continue on the path already started, the one of farming, where there is much to learn and master, but one must be a good businessman to make a reasonable amount of money. It demands a variety of skills, phsyical, commercial, fiscal, management.
I feel like I have lost my practice. I have lost the determination to practice meditation regularly, and I feel like my qualities of energetism and balance of mind are coasting, like a truck which had its engine switched off at the top of a hill. I watch daily my mind, when not occupied or sleeping, get lost in escapism, imaginations and fantasies, and anxieties, multiplying them and repeating them. It is, in a way, painful to feel like I just don’t have it in me to maintain meditation practice like I did before. My life so far as an expat has been a great challenge. I am frequently occupying my mind with learning a new language, and perhaps this is what challenges my capability to be meditative at the same time. Any way, I will keep going. I am here in France now, just beginning to explore something, better give it a fair trial.
I am going to buy a used scooter. I can choose a scooter, or a ‘mobilet’, which is like an old scooter with pedals. The mobilets are apparently not being made anymore. To me they are superior because they are less computerized (and thus easier to repair) and have pedals, so one can pedal like pedalling a bicycle if it pleases one. Once I am mobile, I can get around on my own, and get a job which I can get to and from on my own. In the country, having your own vehicle is necessary, without frequent buses or other modes of public transportation.
Stephanie and I had dinner with her friend, a guy who forgive me for forgetting his name, is a. His parents own a oyster and shrimp farm near La Rochelle. They have dammed ‘fields’ which they flood to 5 feet and grow the crustaceans in there. When they are ready to ‘catch’, they pump the water out until it is less than a foot high, and terribly easily walk over and scoop them up (perhaps with a net ?). The particular type of oysters they grow are highly valued and their farm is protected as a cultural asset. There was a big storm on the atlantic coast at the beginning of March, and it pushed lots of polluted water into their farm, and the oysters caught a disease.
I am planning to make a simply delicious pasta dinner tonight. Spaghetti, olive oil, basil, and parmesan. Imagine everything Italian was that simple ?
I asked Jean Luc his opinion of the EU. He thinks it’s good, but has problems. He believes one problem to be that the USA pays European lobbyists to slow down the progress of Europe, and to keep its interests aligned with that of the US of A. Also, England is very resistant to the financial reforms of the EU, as it aims towards homogenization. He believes it is because England has many off-shore banks, where certain checks and balances against corruption and for transparency are not practiced. England’ physical distance from continental Europe seems to have always caused a political and philosophical distance. If we take a look at philosophy, this is obvious, with continental philosophy, including such famous philosophers as Nietszche, Sartre, Heidegger, Hegel, Husserl, Deleuze, etc., and then the Anglo-American dominated pragmatism with Peirce and Jame and analytical philosophy with Russell. How influential is philosophy on corporation, globalism, power, and environmental policy in the 21st century?
Stephanie's father, manning the washing machine, asked me if Stephanie has any 'affaires' (to be washed in the machine), or if I do. Well I hope she doesn't! hehehe.
Cheers,
Maurizio
Yesterday Jean Luc (Steph’s father) asked me if I had any regrets about leaving Whole Village. I told him I liked it there, but if I went back this year, I would still be an apprentice, which is fine, except that I need to make more money than I was making as an apprentice (I don’t want to scare you by dividing total earnings by total hours worked). Also, as I have written earlier, I consider it a very good idea to learn some practical skills concerning construction and maintenance of houses. It is a sector that has not been hurt by the crisis, and a sector which continues to be undermanned (and underwomaned for sure). It is a sector which will necessarily continue to be relevant into most possible future outcomes, as long as anything is relevant. I then told Jean Luc about Yohanne, the senior manager of Whole Circle Farm, where Abhi is co-managing this season, and his offer for me to co-manage the farm. This was surely a great opportunity, and I started to feel some regret as I told Stephanie’s father about that. I took a difficult path, trying to inject myself into a different culture, in a country already quite saturated in work and hurting from the crisis. He (Jean Luc) said to me that this is good, because if things don’t work out in France for me, I can return to Canada and explore this opportunity. I am not sure if the door will still be open, but similar doors may be.
The question is : is it worth it to start a new path, one that will also initially not include much earning of money, but provide a more reasonable opportunity to make a reasonable income, or to continue on the path already started, the one of farming, where there is much to learn and master, but one must be a good businessman to make a reasonable amount of money. It demands a variety of skills, phsyical, commercial, fiscal, management.
I feel like I have lost my practice. I have lost the determination to practice meditation regularly, and I feel like my qualities of energetism and balance of mind are coasting, like a truck which had its engine switched off at the top of a hill. I watch daily my mind, when not occupied or sleeping, get lost in escapism, imaginations and fantasies, and anxieties, multiplying them and repeating them. It is, in a way, painful to feel like I just don’t have it in me to maintain meditation practice like I did before. My life so far as an expat has been a great challenge. I am frequently occupying my mind with learning a new language, and perhaps this is what challenges my capability to be meditative at the same time. Any way, I will keep going. I am here in France now, just beginning to explore something, better give it a fair trial.
I am going to buy a used scooter. I can choose a scooter, or a ‘mobilet’, which is like an old scooter with pedals. The mobilets are apparently not being made anymore. To me they are superior because they are less computerized (and thus easier to repair) and have pedals, so one can pedal like pedalling a bicycle if it pleases one. Once I am mobile, I can get around on my own, and get a job which I can get to and from on my own. In the country, having your own vehicle is necessary, without frequent buses or other modes of public transportation.
Stephanie and I had dinner with her friend, a guy who forgive me for forgetting his name, is a. His parents own a oyster and shrimp farm near La Rochelle. They have dammed ‘fields’ which they flood to 5 feet and grow the crustaceans in there. When they are ready to ‘catch’, they pump the water out until it is less than a foot high, and terribly easily walk over and scoop them up (perhaps with a net ?). The particular type of oysters they grow are highly valued and their farm is protected as a cultural asset. There was a big storm on the atlantic coast at the beginning of March, and it pushed lots of polluted water into their farm, and the oysters caught a disease.
I am planning to make a simply delicious pasta dinner tonight. Spaghetti, olive oil, basil, and parmesan. Imagine everything Italian was that simple ?
I asked Jean Luc his opinion of the EU. He thinks it’s good, but has problems. He believes one problem to be that the USA pays European lobbyists to slow down the progress of Europe, and to keep its interests aligned with that of the US of A. Also, England is very resistant to the financial reforms of the EU, as it aims towards homogenization. He believes it is because England has many off-shore banks, where certain checks and balances against corruption and for transparency are not practiced. England’ physical distance from continental Europe seems to have always caused a political and philosophical distance. If we take a look at philosophy, this is obvious, with continental philosophy, including such famous philosophers as Nietszche, Sartre, Heidegger, Hegel, Husserl, Deleuze, etc., and then the Anglo-American dominated pragmatism with Peirce and Jame and analytical philosophy with Russell. How influential is philosophy on corporation, globalism, power, and environmental policy in the 21st century?
Stephanie's father, manning the washing machine, asked me if Stephanie has any 'affaires' (to be washed in the machine), or if I do. Well I hope she doesn't! hehehe.
Cheers,
Maurizio
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