a clothesline summer

The mornings have gotten chilly and the nights undeniably cozy. Not to mention the turning of the leaves. I guess this means my fabulous summer is really, truly over.

I wrote this a few weeks back, in a matter of minutes, actually (more rare than not). When summer was still lingering and homework was looming over my head. More a result of procrastination than creative genius, there were a few words that still needed tweaking. The ushering in of fall helped me put in the final touches. One day, I wil write poems in French. The humming of my summer isn't complete without French sounds.       But.  That day is not today.

And so. An ode; or a eulogy, if you will.

a clothesline summer
minutes like postcard stamps
hung out to fly
then passed from hand to hand
in warmth not quite
cold nights not quietly
we danced on toes
we crossed out bridges
on pages, over seas

how can one know
without the swelling of the wind
makes windows call
gives voice to cracks and alleys thin
that doorknobs do
that from dark keyholes sing
the peace of home
a bed for backs so wearily

those dog-eared maps
which from the folds we found
like unwound twine
foreign knots to mark our feet
or rather where
and from beneath our skin
we carved out stone
and there stopped our searching


to understand
to live forgetfully
in ink that fades
according to the rain
in vacancies
left by what once words did fill
our mouths without
in teeming streets
from which a certain humming sounds

A detour or two.

I'm writing from the comfort of a bed that is not my own but is at least in my house in the room I inhabited from age seven probably to age fifteen. It seems so much smaller now.

This blog thing has turned into the monster I was afraid it would: a distraction from real writing and a glorified egocentric journal because merely writing assumes that people want to read. It just seems presumptuous. But this has also become a form of therapy, this half-bred offspring of journal meets moleskin. In fact, I have so gotten in the habit of writing that I have started to carry a notebook. I make notes. I am more aware of the simple things in life like weather patterns or the bathroom stall in the Colorado Springs airport that I have used now 4 times. Yes 4. The exact same stall. It's starting to evoke a sense of nostalgia. Though I guess I'm losing the point here, which is that this monster of a blog is maybe profiting me nevertheless. In summary, I have a love/hate relationship with it. Love/hate; now isn't that a new trend for me?

So I am home. Not for good. And I wonder if that makes me love it all the more. Sometimes I think I just like leaving home so I can fly back over the mountains, through the clouds and over the great salt lake and feel my breath catch in my chest as everything I love most becomes physically accessible again. I wrote more about this in my infamous notebook so I'll spare you. I actually want to rewind a few days to write about Wednesday night.

So Monday during Alex's guitar lessons Emma and I took a stroll and passed by this quaint little shop, Black Cat Books.

I wanted to go in but Emma needed to find a bathroom. If there is one thing I have learned about kids it is that they lose bladder control at the very moment it becomes most inconvenient. Luckily walking past I saw an announcement for a workshop on Wednesday, "Publish Your Book". Now, I don't have a book to publish. I just explained that. Or maybe I didn't. Anyway, this blog I hold partly responsible for the absence of a book. But that is just me passing the buck to a nonentity. All the same, I thought you know it couldn't hurt to see the end from the beginning. So I planned to check out said workshop.


I made the 25 minute drive which became 40 minutes because of traffic. And I started late. And hungry. So needless to say I was stressed and to stave off the stress I summoned excitement. So by the time I arrive I'm super pumped up. It started to rain when I got there so I ran down the streets so as to avoid getting too wet. What with the wind and the running my hat went flying off. Which got a good laugh from café goers as well as from me. I enter the bookshop only to find that the author giving the workshop left because no one showed up on time. So I had gotten ready, put off my phone call to Peru as well as my run and not to mention my dinner, for nothing. I couldn't just turn around so I wondered to the downstairs of the bookstore. It was totally empty and I wandered in revelry though perhaps wander is not totally accurate. More like shuffled; the place was small. I even sat down for 15 minutes and jotted down some things in my notebook. Feeling better, I find a stack of Brian Andreas goodness in the form of Storypeople.

I first discovered Storypeople during my 2006 graduation present to me trip to Seattle. I had actually been thinking about them a few weeks back while trying to think of things that made me happy. I had copied and pasted so many of the quotes and Word somehow annihilate d the document. It was just one of those days that I kept striking out. Seriously. But these funky pictures, scuptures and quotes make me smile. And if I am going to take up gigabites I should be using it to spread goodness. So here are some of my favorite "Stories". They make me feel like being a kid and hope and laugh and maybe sigh. And honestly, I think Brian Andreas must have been spying on me because I swear there are things here I've said word for nearly-almost word. It's a funny feeling, the suspicion that the story of your life was written by someone else. But a comforting one. Because it means that you're not as alone as you once suspected.

So thank you Brian Andreas. Thank you thingsnotworkingoutasplanned. After all.
Enjoy. Enjoy. En joie. Oui, c'est ca.



When I grow UP, I want to remember that I always wanted to be about a thousand different things & one lifetime didn't seem nearly enough. When I grow up, I hope it's at the very end when it doesn't matter anymore anyway.

I can imagine it working out perfectly, I said. I can't, she said & I said no wonder you're so stressed.

They came to sit & dangle their feet off the edge of the world & after awhile they forgot everything but the good & true things they would do someday.

We had gone far enough together to listen easily in the quiet spaces.

It took me a long time, she said, to stop confusing safety with love.

I mainly want someone to tell me I'm right & then pay me, he said. Is that too much to ask? & I said as long as you're living in a dream world, you might as well make it work for you.

I only do this until I get dizzy & then I lay down on my back & watch the clouds, she said. It sounds simple but you won't believe how many people forget the second part.

This is a giant block of whatever is most difficult for you to carry & trust me on this, you'll carry it more times than you can count until you decide that's exactly what you want to do most & then it won't weigh a thing anymore.

I'm not sure if there's one right place I'm supposed to be, he said, but I know a couple of wrong places I'd give a second try in a heartbeat.

the real problem with details is there's so many of them

If you're right & I'm not, I'm going to be hell to live with, she said. So, you better think about that next time you want to be right.

When I first met him, I knew in a moment I would have to spend the next few days re-arranging my mind so there'd be room for him to stay.

What are the rules? I said & she said, Do exactly what I want whenever I want, make no demands of me whatsoever & love me forever, no questions asked & I said, how do you win? & she said, you don't understand. I'm the only one who wins & then she laughed & clapped her hands. Isn't it a great game? she said.

Tied together by stuff too difficult to explain to someone new

If you hold on to the handle, she said, it's easier to maintain the illusion of control. But it's more fun if you just let the wind carry you.

I saw them standing there pretending to be just friends, when all the time in the world could not pry them apart.

I try & walk a line between terror & ecstasy, she said & then she shook her head. You'd be amazed at the people who avoid me for no good reason, other than that.

I think my life would be easier, she said, if I could just get my selves to agree on something.

When I was younger I used to keep all the stuff I had in my pockets. There were a lot of rocks & little shiny things. As I got older it got to be too much to carry & I couldn't remember why I kept it anyway so I finally got rid of it. Now, I make lists

this is a picture of the future & you'll notice that there's a lot of blank space because people haven't made up their minds about it & the future doesn't have a lot of time for that kind of indecisiveness

It's taken me a long time to get here, he said, so I don't really care if it's wrong.

Why is the world so confusing? he said & I said it's only confusing if you believe it has to make sense & he looked at me & shook his head. I can't believe they let just anyone have children, he said.

If there is any secret to this life I live, this is it: the sound of what cannot be seen sings within everything that can. & there is nothing more to it than that.

Marseille. This is for you.

For the record, I'm skipping over I want to say 3 unfinished, in-the-works, posts. This is coming to you thanks to the antics of my good friends Ctrl C and Ctrl V.

A year ago today I was in an airplane. France. Second time.

I want to say it changed my life. I'm sure that I wanted it to be pivotal. The sad truth of it is, in a mere 365 days a lot of it has become a blur. I guess that's what you get when most of what goes on in any given day goes on in your head and you don't keep a journal documenting. As if I could possibly even attempt.

I am grateful for the people I met, the conversations that were had, the laughs. I may not feel changed and I may not remember the half of them, but I think about these people, those moments often. I guess the truth of it is, it was a wish fulfilled and it didn't fail me. I think the contentment is still carrying me through what would otherwise be an unabated restlessness.

Sometime in my last week or so in Marseille I was heading home, likely from saying goodbye to someone. I was caught in one of those perfect Marseillais sunsets.

I got home. In the forty five minutes that took me, dusk had come and gone. I sat down. Wrote without pausing to think or edit. And now, a year later, it brings me back. This, my ode to Marseille. To France. To foreign skies. To space. To time. To freedom.

City of masts, like skyscrapers. Not to mention the fishing poles, propped up most of the time, sometime held; the urban trees of this city. Cathedrals-la Major-crowning the building facades that contour the port. And other towers, spires. Rooftops. The personality of the city defined by where it touches the palleted sky. People walking the boardwalk, stopping for the sunset. Some taking pictures. Crowds of people on the sidewalk, dining at cafes, restaurants, smoking, sitting. They think they’re watching you when it’s you watching them. The lights hanging by wires from the buildings, a hanging sidewalk suspended in the middle of the streets. Follow the yellow brick road. The bus-people, we of the transport commun. That says it better. For a moment, we share road, breathe the same air, the same 150 square feet. The doors open and we file out, cross paths, bump into each other until we become dispersed amongst the sidewalkers. Like spiders. Dusk. Sunset. Half light, cool breeze, the light smell of the sea, of the air from the middle of the ocean. First by bus, then on foot, to Noailles. The soundtrack changes the the bumping of headphone wires becomes the percussion since the sound of feet have been muted by music. Run by Leona Lewis-almost brings me to tears-becomes Come as you Are by Nirvana. Pick up the pace. People watch me, walking fast. But I can’t hear them and it’s like walking through shadows. La Cure Gourmande-the window covered by shutters and the bum laying down in front, in what would be a picture perfect moment only I don’t have the heart to take his picture. Leaning on a small bag against his sign, on his back, knees bent, he looks just like he is resting, breathing the city in just like me; he breathes a bit deeper I think. Descent into the tramway and after a ten minute wait the tram breaches the concrete surface; the dark night makes a tunnel. Off the tram, music again and I’m looking for the moon to dance to. In my head, perfect turns, on tiptoes. Not ideal in sandals. Or with a backpack. Or with headphones. No moon but I sing anyway. People from their windows, maybe watching, but are they the same that watched before? I like to think so. That they will miss me, the dancing, singing, lost or half drunk shadow who in the daylight dreams of rescuing lost lop-eared bunnies but doesn’t have the courage. Or a home. Still no moon, no ocean panoramic. Yet I feel small. Because one day my feet will be here and the next they will not. The pavement, the cobblestones, the straightbacked wretchedly uncomfortable tram seats, the resounding wall lined sidewalked lined with shards of glass, these things will remain unchanged. It won’t be any different than getting off the bus, off the train. One minute we are together, the next we are going a hundred different ways. Like a spider caught by a powerful gust of wind, I will fly across oceans, a thread flying out from Marseille.

A weekend. No vampires. Sort of.

Subheading: The first of several posts I started writing but didn't get around to posting.

Road trip 2010 #1: Vegas.

No ticket: check
No accidents: check
No breakdowns: check
No drama: check
No going over budget: check

By all accounts an utterly successful trip. Except for one casualty: me.

Two days post return finds me in a ball on the carpet of my room in front of my laptop which is resting on a chair. Not in bed. Because my stomach is killing me from the inside out and while I would prefer death while sleeping I'm not ready for it now. So here I am.

Honestly though, Vegas was just what the doctor ordered (minus of course, the obvious food contamination/flu/whatever is ailing me).

Here's a shout out to my GIRLS. The Gemini THREE.

And before I embark on another road trip I want to document. Because forgetting comes so easily.

Some highlights:

Horchata. By Vampire Weekend. The song that would become the theme song of our trip. And probably now, of my summer. Driving with my knees so that my hands could beat out a rhythm. "HERE COMES A FEELING YOU THOUGHT YOU'D FORGOTTEN / CHAIRS TO SIT ON, SIDEWALKS TO WALK ON". Don't ask me to explain why that line rings so true that it evokes the kind of bubbling happiness that could result in the rain coming through the corner of my eyes.

Laughing with just the right tone so that Mer knew that I saw right through her. Fits of laughter that followed.

The volleyball net.

Do it. Do it do it real good!

Rocking out in bikinis to Rock N' Roll, Tony the Beat, and Portions for Foxes and other such scandal. Which yes, would involve me jumping on the bed and falling to my knees, in true Rock Star fashion, to play some mean air guitar. Isn't that what nice hotel beds are for?

The 3 minutes of pain during our 5 minute massage. And the ensuing next-day aches.

Ayyy, MAMACITA!

The korean ladies in front of the Bellagio who wanted to take thumbs up pictures. The frenchies on the other side of them.

The sight of Liz with all her shopping bags. She makes girl scouts and Mary Poppins pale in comparison.

And lastly, of course, the all encompassing question: Did you ENJOY yourself?

Vegas is quite far from being one of my favorite places in this world. But in answer to that question, yes, yes I did. Viva Las Vegas.

Of pebbles, sunsets, and castles

8/13/2009

Dear Blog,

Went hiking on the rocky cliff-ish hills that line Marseilles coastline, otherwise known as the Calanques [Kal-onk]. It was Joel, the sea, and me for 45 minutes. Oh, and that Frenchie who was hiking back wearing only his speedo, backpack and hat. I often underestimate the French's appreciation for nature.

I saw this:













I spent three hours in and out of the water, which was blue and crystalline and just the right temperature. I laid on my back in the water, laid perfectly still, and let the water and my deep breathing keep me there. The water make a weird clicking sound and I tried to not think about the boats next to me and how polluted the water must be. I wished I knew water yoga. And that they would make an underwater mp3 player complete with waterproof headphones/buds.

Then I fell asleep on pebbles listening to three French kids building a stone and stick castle which they abandoned to play other games. One girl, two boys; brothers, Arthur and Frederick. I learned the names quickly because the girl did most the talking and was always calling them by name, giving orders. Some things have nothing to do with culture and everything to do with chromosomes.

We hiked/walked back to the sun setting. And I couldn't help but to think that you know, with the wind blowing in my hair, Marseille is worth the hot days. I just need to get out and enjoy them is all.







Sunsets. They're like that.

P.S. It's about time you get a nickname. My current proximity with the French language has me thinking about the gender of nouns. I want to say that "blog" sounds like a masculine noun. So your nickname has to be manly. Manly nicknames? Not exactly my forte.

I held so many people in my suitcase heart

So. Several people here and at home have recently shown interest in reading my blog. This has created the need to do some back-editing and may (read, most certainly will) affect future entries. I’ve kind of spared nothing up to this point; discretion amongst my close relations never really was my forte. Given that, you would think I would love to write in my journal. Au contraire my friends, au contraire. I have a really hard time of it, writing to my future self or my kids I don’t yet have or complete strangers who might come across my words “one day”. A concrete audience is what I require; you know, the kind that breathes and feels. In the present. So maybe I’ll have to create another more journalistic blog with a limited audience composed of people that my candidness won’t take by surprise. But for the rest of you, this is goodbye to my blog “a la journal”.

But the beginning of something wonderful, nonetheless.

My dear friend Winston, known to some of you as Elder McCarthy, inspired the theme of much of what I will write in this next blog. See, he posts a link to his blog on his facebook and probably got more than he was betting for when I decided to check it out. His original intention in writing a blog was to write “just a journal, nothing more”. So yes, I essentially stumbled onto his journal. (I will add as a side note that this also kind of made me realize the need for discretion in my postings. Not that big W wrote anything indiscreet or anything; he limits himself to toe stubbing incidents and one, two paragraphs max. Rather the reality that anyone can access my blog was what I gleaned from my readings.) He remarked that a general authority, I don’t know who, had recommended that in your daily journal writings you include something you are grateful for from that day. Impressed, yes I was.

So I don’t mean to disappoint here or anything, but I’m not going to outline every hour of the past two weeks here. I’m going to have some photos, some descriptions, preceded by a lot of gratitude. My English teachers of yesteryear would be so proud of me and my introductory paragraph complete with topic sentence. I blame them for my inability to relay information like a normal human being. I have taken my revenge however by starting sentences with 'so', 'and', and 'but' as a rule of thumb and writing incomplete sentences altogether. So wrong. And yet so right.

Yeah, I know. Only a huge nerd considers violation of the mechanics of writing as a sort of rebellion.

With discretion will come a lack in context in some cases. You will pardon me this, of course. (I thank you for your magnanimity). In order to avoid jealousy between my subject matter, I leave you by way of an update of these last two weeks, in no particular order, what I have recently found myself grateful for:

1) American customer service. Not only the fact that in the good old US of A the consumer is recognized as the means of keeping businesses running but also the general patience towards customers. And, because I am impatient I have to add that I’m grateful for respect of the customer’s time. Example: I spent 30 minutes in line at the local grocery one morning to buy 2 croissants and a pack of laughing cow cheese. And I had a tram, then a metro to catch. Starvation seemed a better alternative than being in the claustrophobia inducing lines but as my hypoglycemia makes my starvation a miserable experience for those around me generally, I remained standing there. And I didn’t move for another 6 minutes. My stomach tightened at every six minute interval I was able to take a step. I never thought I would more appreciate the fast lane, or, even better, the self check lane in grocery stores.

2) By the same token, I’m grateful-even though I don’t like it-to learn a very important life lesson that my head phrases something like this: get over yourself, you are not as patient as you think you are and even at that you knew you had a ways to go.

3) Good luck. Call it what you like, a little prayer never hurt anyone. Like that time I lost my newly purchased tram ticket (12.60 with 10 euros, that’s $14, remaining). This was actually the same morning as the waiting in line incident and as I was in a hurry I figured I had put the pass some ridiculous place in my room thinking I would remember and decided to just worry about finding it later and buy a one day pass. I was walking to the tram and worrying about it. I said a little prayer in my head, crossed the street and decided to listen to my music to de-stress. I turn my bag around to the front. I start to dig around for my itouch. Inevitably, my eyes grace the pavement. And there I see a tram pass. I pick it up and give it a good look. It has 12.60 punched on it and that’s when it hits me: the night before when walking home my hands full of bags of books and clothes I had decided to listen to my ipod at that exact same spot. I had swung my bag around front and doing so had dislodged the tram ticket from my back pocket. If you had asked me earlier if I had lost it on the way home I would have said it was a possibility and that it probably fell out on the tram, while I was sitting down. Only hindsight made me realize how I had lost the thing in the first place. Who says independent women don’t manage without a little help from lady luck and the man upstairs?

4) Growing up with a limited television privileges and lots of chores (even though in hindsight lots may be an exaggeration here). The former because I learned early that I was capable of entertaining myself and the latter because I learned early that I was capable of contributing, responsibility, and hard work. To a degree, we'll say. Respect for time and property came with that too, I think. A weird and unrelated and possibly cultural and therefore egocentrical anecdote: Bastille Day, July 14th, is the French equivalent to the 4th of July. I spent the day at the ward, barbequing followed by fireworks at the beach until 12:30. Am. While the fireworks weren’t all that great and we arrived late, it was an experience, the whole beach bit. On the 25 minute drive home we passed 2 burning cars and 1 burning motorcycle. Fireworks, you might ask? No. Just people-not necessarily teenagers either- who were bored and derive joy vandalizing other peoples things. Vandalism is quite a problem here. As is littering. I’m not trying to get to the root of the problem here or anything, because obviously taking away the television and heaping on the chores does not ensure responsible citizens. But let’s just say I am grateful to be an American raised in an educated, hard working home. And by that I imply more that I can possibly explain right now. And I also don't mean to sound self congratulating, or snobbish. I really am just grateful. Thanks Mom and Dad.

5) Homeopathic doctors and remedies. Because despite a gluten allergy I am able to counter the effects of all the pastries and french baked goodness with a couple of pills. I think it's catching up with me, and I still feel like my muscles are weaker than they should be but it sure beats having a constant stomach ache.

6) French chocolate. That pretty much says it all.

7) Bookstores. Especially French ones. Facebook may have informed some of you that I just dispensed of over 100 euro (yes, that is $140) at the local and then used "librarie" (bookstore). Thanks to the hours I had to explore I found a couple of good (read, interesting/cheap) finds. One of them I started last week, it's called "Demain la Lune" (Tomorrow the Moon). I bought it because it sounded like a coming of age story. A big fan of adolescent literature I seized the chance to expose myself to the French adolescent experience. True, it takes place in the 70's but it is a story of a boy who is from a town 20 minutes outside of Rennes (where I studied abroad) who has to spend his summer vacation with his newly divorced father in Provence (where I am now). I seem to have unbelievable luck here; everything coincides perfectly. Where this kind of luck is in Utah, the real world, I would really like to know. I should add here that this is my 5th book I'm working my way through now. I just finished a Marie Antoinette biography and now I'm itching to spend more time in Paris. I'd be very grateful for that, but I may be getting ahead of myself since finances are tight. Here's a picture for you of my purchases :)


8) SISTERS. And Dave. Seeing the workings of a household with an only child has made me shudder at what life would have been like-and would be like-without them. Seriously, I see this shadow, a phantom, of the child I might have been. She's kind of monsterous in thick, pink rimmed glasses. I'll spare you the sociopathic vision.

9) My friendies. Amis. Amigos. Because for some reason this 2 month excursion of mine has me missing hanging out with you more than a mission or study abroad (various theories to explain this phenomenon will likely follow) and because you've been so awesome at indulging me and keeping in touch. And again, talk about luck, I'm glad to be one of 4 Americans here in the ward. Not only does it make for more of a party but I can hide the fact-by degrees-that I'm a shameless tag along.

K, 10 would be a nice round number to end on but I have to stop this sappiness before I CTRL A and delete this on a whim. And now ladies and gentlemen, for some pictures. Possibly some videos if I can tap into the tech-savy mastermind within.


*************************************************************************************************

I came bearing gifts. This is the night of my arrival in Marseille with Chrystèle and William.



Plume the cat likes to sleep in my drawer. Hmm, reminds me of a little black monster I know back home.



This is the cereal I hold fully responsible for my weight gain in Rennes, five years back. 2 bowls a morning of this stuff and fatty french milk will do that to you. I've found a new and improved version. At 2.50 a box and gluten free, I pretty much have to eat the stuff. I have no other choice but to eat spoonful after spoonful of oat granola swimming with shavings of dark chocolate. It's a matter of health. No choice whatsoever.



Florence countryside by car. Yes, those are grape vines.



My freezing my tail after getting out of the water at plage d'estagnol. We went two Wednesdays ago.



Joel taking a picture of me taking a picture of plage d'estagnol. This place could compete with Hawaii in my book. Awesome.



Plage d'estagnol cont....



...inued.



Aix-en-Provence. Cezanne and I, we're tight. Drew and Mathias (les Americains) and Slyvia, a girl from their program, bussed it out here last Saturday to be given a guided tour by Marie and Elodie, natives to France but not the region.



Provencial streets. Yes, I am still obsessed with windows.



Aix marketplace. I took pictures of the flowers instead of buying anything. Had to save my mula for gelato, breton (think Rennes) crepes, and renown pasteries. OOh. La. La.



Marketplace continued.




Friends and family, please take note. This is how the French decorate the cars of newlyweds: ribbons and flowers. Classy inside and out. When my big day comes, I want (read: have to have) this. I have other pictures, should you need further inspiration.



Notre Dame de....Aix?


No window? No door? Don't worry, they'll grafiti one in for you.


Fountain I-have-all-ready-forgotten-your-name. Aix.



Sylvia, Polish, bears a frightning resemblence to Dr. Brennen in Bones. She thought it was hilarious to sneak up behind me when I was taking pictures. I have 3 other similar shots and in all 3 she refuses to take off her sunglasses. Which is a shame because you can't see the resemblence really here.



Drew, the Narrator. He takes videos and narrates them. Inspirational, really. I regret not having
more videos from my mission. So now I'm following Drew's trend, minus the narration.



Sylvia, Mathias, and I. Aix. Drew is the photographer and all the group photos we had other people take of us are on his camera and I'll get them later.


Chrystèle bought me this recipe book of regional delights.



Notre Dame de la Garde. Google images took this picture for me. We visited on Bastille day, July 14th. It's one of the most known icons of the city. You can see her lady from almost anywhere in Marseille and from out on the ocean too (I've been told).


On the inside of the cathedral of Notre Dame de la Garde. Because she is both a landmark and religious icon of a city built on a port, there are a lot of themes about water and boats in the decor. There were boats hanging from the ceiling all over. I now want to decorate a room in my house like that. This is one of the most colorful cathedrals I'd ever seen.



Notre Dame de la Garde.



Marseille minstral (wind) meets Sunny at Notre Dame de la Garde.



View from Notre Dame tower.



Here I am in front of the entrance to the catherdal wearing my hope and peace shirt on Bastille day. It's as patriotic as I get here.



Last Saturday Joel drove us out to the Calanques. That's a french term for cliffs meeting ocean in a particular fashion I can't quite describe. We weren't able to visit the Calanques we wanted to, nor do the hiking we planned on doing there due to the heat and winds which resulted in fire risks apparently. Mathias and I were dumbfounded at the alarm the heat and wind caused because seriously, all the coastline was closed off. We ended up in Cassis, about 20 minutes out of Marseille. It was absolutely pictoresque. Fellow travelers were Mathias (obviously), Louise, and Jonathan, from the ward.


Jonathan and I in deep conversation.


Mathias and Louise. Mathias had that towel wrapped around his head at one point to avoid sunburn. Classic. Louise got sunburned for like the 2nd time in her life. She's got a great tan line from her cast to prove it too.



Voila, the Calanques meet the port.



The brave and sunburned travellers.



The Cigales (Cicadas) are infamous here in Provence. Like crickets in the mountain, they set the tone for summer. Jonathan made friends with one here. Gross.



Sunday we picnicked and then headed downtown to visit the Palais Longchamps. This is the view of the palace from the back, you can see me there walking on the right.



Chrystèle and I at the Palais.



Palais arches.



Coming down around the side of the Palais.



"I was a statuette". (See previous photo)



View from the Palais.



Almost down to the street.


In contemplation.




So, I've discovered how to post a video. Now I just need to learn how to edit them. The new iphone can do that but apparently my computer can't; go figure. If you go about 25 seconds into the film you'll see me standing at the edge of the rocks, preparing to get in the ice and I mean freezing cold water. I was nearly ready for it but this wave came and I lost my balance and well, you'll see. Make sure you have the volume up so you can hear me screaming. I didn't last long in that water and it wore me out, I'll tell you. That's the most interesting thing about the video though, in case you want to keep watching.



And voila, the adventures end. I've been keeping myself more busy, as you see. I feel real lazy, a lot of the time and know I will have a hard time coming home to the pace of the real world but I'm not letting that interfere with my here and now. I'm in France and la vie est belle.