Iron and Wine

For the last week I have been listening to the Iron and Wine album and their video for "Boy with a Coin" is worth taking a look at. So here it is. I love the angles, the dance, the song, the intensity, all of it.

114 miles

Mark and dad came out about two weeks ago to hang and be in the great Pacific Northwest. They hung in Seattle until I could have a day off at which point they came up to the "City of Subdued Excitement" Bellingham to eat some good food, and do some fun trips.

My personal favorite was ferrying out to Orcas Island and biking to the top of Mt. Constitution. I had been wanting to bike all the way from Bellingham and then to the top, but I didn't feel like I was in good enough shape, and didn't know if dad and Mark were going to be into it. Well of course we got off late, barely made the ferry and had a really great ride to the top. It super steep at parts and I wasn't sure if my gearing was going to be enough, but it was. All three of us made it to the top and all the grunting and sweat was worth it when it came time to go down.

All this background to get to the present day. Two hours ago I just returned from my bike trip to the top of Artist's Point, the highest point accessible by car near Mt. Baker. I had thought about this for a long time, wasn't sure if I could do it, but after the Mt. Constitution climb, I was pretty sure it was possible.

I left this morning at six:thirtyam on my fortyninecm Lemond Poprad from my front door.

Anis Mojgani sounded off my little iPod an hour into the ride. I froze. It has been chilly here in the mornings, and this morning was no exception. Fog was all around, walls of cold open air mixed with the warm sections as I ducked into a mass of woods. It was delicious. Taking off my gloves to blow into my hands to warm them, and pedaling like a madman to get my body temp up. At eight:thirty I finally broke a sweat. Once I was out of the city of Glacier I was over half way. I was focused and just trying to conserve all my energy for the actual climb. Coldplay X&Y and David Gray White Ladder had already played through, but instead of going to the I am Sam soundtrack after the maintenance shed signaling the beginning of the climb. I found some Rage Against the Machine to get me to the top. I was suprised initially by the lack of steepness. I was in a pretty high gear the entire time, but what was lacking in grade was made up for in length. It took me an hour and a bit to finally get to the top. Five hours from my front door. Beautiful. Quiet. Thankful. I laid down for a quick power nap and to enjoy my realised dream.
Back on the bike I made it home in three hours. I was feeling good, and the thought of home was taunting me. Went through I am Sam soundtrack, one song from Imogean Heap and then the new Iron and Wine album paying special attention to Boy with a Coin that I fell in love with. Patty Griffin saw me into town. And just the sounds of cars and Bellingham to get home. Eight hours total.

It was a good ride for a lot of reasons. The last few weeks have been less than easy. Damn hard really. When I got up I just wanted to spend the day curled up in bed, but I worked some things out on this trip. I'm glad I did it. I felt alive on this trip. It is good to feel this way. Hopefully in the future it doesn't take onehundredandfourteen miles to get this emotion. Until I get there, I am happy with today.

The Happenings

I just realized that there is a lot going on in my life at the moment. Some of it good, and some hard and some exciting and well I guess I should just get to going on the telling of the last few months.
I am a volunteer firefighter in the state of Washington. This is exciting. Apparently there was a orientation today that wasn't on the sheet they gave us, but the last of the Connally clan was getting married down in Tacoma, so i wasn't able to be there. Not able meaning that I didn't know about this meeting. So appart from missing the first major training session, I am really excited about starting this. I got all my gear for the academy that will start soon, and even a really sweet helmet with my name on the back.

I started counceling. I needed some feedback from an outside source to walk through some messiness. I have had one session, but I am excited about going for a while and seeing what comes from it.

Laura and I broke up. If you know me from the last almost year and a half, Laura was a huge part of my life. This is the hard/sad/good part of my life at the moment. I know that it was the right thing, albeit hard, but we are both moving forward.

The return to Bellingham. There are so many people coming back to Bellinham I can hardly contain all the stoked emotions. Team Pfriem came back with their beautiful two year old and dog and incredible beer talents to work in a local brewery that hasn't been so successful as of late. The Groves have been here since the beginning of the summer, the Mauss fam has been here for a little bit, and the list goes on of people who once were lost, but have been found again in the sweet embrace of Bellingham's sometime drenched, but loving arms.

And biking. I have become hooked on it as have some of the TN crew mainly the two bros, Edward, and Kevin. We are trying to convert the world. I have been volunteering at a local bike shop called The Hub, and have been looking at bikes to fix and to fix up to bomb around on and make a few extra bucks. I love helping people there and the satisfaction of having them come in and leave without me having to ask someone else a single question. It is so sweet. All I do is help people. It is sweet.

Oh what the heck why not?

A few more pics from France and Tennessee.

Last after-climbing-session party before I left France, from left to right, Arnaud, JB, me Jeremy, Caroline, Laurent

My friend from Finland, Christina, and I in the metro of Paris.

One of my closest friends in France, David pulling up a problem on La Chemaine des Fontaines.

Arnaud trying the hard traverse along the same road in France, last outdoor climbing session.

Laura longing for the sweet nectar of Jack Daniels that she will never be able to have. Oh the sadness of gluten intolerance.

something new

Well I haven't done it yet, but here we go. Photos.

Nothing like a little sisterly love.

The Fam, complete with new sister-in-law (Erin) in California.

Little Afton in TN just after getting back from France

Playing in the dirt.

Almost thirty and still playing in the dirt. It wouldn't be so bad save that it is the way I am making my living here in good old Bellingham. The landscaping stuff is fun. I like washing up to my elbows at the end of a day, but I am ready for a change. I am ready to take a break from stressing about where my next paycheck is coming from. I just finished a flagstone patio for some friends, while being accepted for a volunteer position at the Bellingham Fire District 4.

What this means is that I have two twelve hour shifts twice a month and this fall they are going to send me to EMT school. I am excited. I have been going for training sessions each Monday for the last few weeks and in a classroom type setting we have been learning everything from infant triage to how to use the new radios. The best part though is to have a call and see the teams mobilize in a matter of seconds and be out doing cool stuff. So yes, I am excited and happy to be where I am and doing what I am doing.

Now I have found a job with a property management company here in Bellingham. They manage quite a few large buildings here in the city limits, including a few of the hospital buildings, so that will be a lot of roof time and learning what they have to teach me.

Hopefully within a few months I will be writing a bolg about how I am playing with fire... well putting it out at least.

Home

I am sitting Erin and Stuart's apartment, waiting to go on a ride with my uncle and dad. The sun is shining, the hiumidity is not as bad as usual for Spring in Tennessee and the slight breeze is inviting.

I am home.

I am with my brothers and sisters and nephew and parents for three full weeks. Already in typical Verner fashion we had a full weekend of cleaning, doing yard-work, biking, and eating great food.
Can't wait to see you all as location permits. Stories from TN to come.

Calanques

"Europeans are always on vacation" a direct quote from my brother as we talked after my trip to the Calanques. Southeast of France between the cities of Cassis and Marseilles is a beautiful stretch of land pleasing to the eyes, rough on the hands, and oh so good for the body.
Yes once again I was on vacation doing great things with friends from the CAF of Mazamet. We made the 'bridge' between a Thursday holiday and the weekend to climb for four days on the limestone big beautiful walls falling directly into the Mediterranean Ocean.
From the second day on my hands were screaming at me to take a break. It having been less than two weeks since i decided to start climbing slowly again, my tender tips begged and I promised to comply every morning, thinking that i would swim that day or just hang out near the walls taking pictures, but when we would arrive at the walls I broke my promise every time. Long route after long route with beautiful delicate slabs like i have never seen, huge juggy overhangs and everything in between. The third day was at a place called En Vau. A lagoon flanked by cliffs on either side, three hundred yards in length and maybe fifty yards in width. Each day was stated in the same manner, wanting to sleep, but the call of cliffs or Laurent calling us got us out of bed. Breakfast, and excited talk of the new sector and new climbs we were going to hit up. Riding or one day walking to the cliffs that beckoned us. Climbed all day mostly one or two routes of three to five pitches and then dive into the chilly water to let our bodies recoup.
Twenty-two routes total, from about 4c to 6c with the last being a beautiful 6c that went for one hundred and ten feet, two sections of bouldering and just a great one to end on. The last few of us who decided to climb until the last possible second got in the car at seven and at twelve were at the house ready to go to bed. Yeah my arm still hurts a little, i don't know what to do about it, but I am glad that i climbed none the less.

Vacations are over

A little more sun than I expected, a little more climbing than I expected, more food than I expected, and much more sore than I expected, but oh so good to be on vacation. Two weeks of reading, traveling, biking, climbing and all the other fun stuff that comes with the changing of the seasons.
The canal has been mentioned, but the rest has not. Because of not so good weather we had here in Castres when I got back I went on a reading spree where I read for six hours one day and four the next, lovely. Rain, coffee, and a book. It was great. The next week was more slow days at the apartment or on my new fixie. Sidenote: fixies are hot! The trad of climbing, the Shakespeare of literature, the Casablanca of film, possibly the Grand Cru chez Grand Cru of wines, it is rockin'. My gearing is a little low, so it makes me work harder on the uphills. Simple, smooth, quiet. I rode with a smile even in headwind and tired legs. I did a ten mile loop for the first time and never touched the breaks. And although I keep preaching the hotness of fixed gears to Laura, she tells me, " You know what is hot Hunter...gears!" I am determined to get her on a fixie at some point. So a challenge to you, yes you, find a beater and go to this site there and enjoy getting super strong.

Ok, so back to outings in France. Already planning good-bye dinners and having some talk time with friends. It came to last Thursday and because of the weather being better than rain the CAF ( Club Alpin Français) went to Les Gorges du Banquet, not very far from Mazamet, to get our hands on some real rock. Interesting gneiss routes and one roof route boasting a 6a+ (5.10)rating, while all of us sat grumbling at the bottom about how it should be more like 6b+(5.10d). When all the extra layers had been donned and it was more and more difficult to see our feet as we climbed, we headed for home.
The next evening at a dinner Natalia ( Spanish assistant) informed me that her brother Pablo was here from Spain, I climbed with Pablo over Christmas in Catalonia, and he had nothing to do. Again an entire day of climbing. First at Burlatz , close to the house with Nico and then only with Pablo again to Banquet to finish the day. With shoulders red and bodies tired he brought me back home to dinner and bed. Pablo doesn't speak any French and I don't speak Spanish, but his English is getting better and better and it is enough to communicate and enjoy one another.

The next day I struggled to get out of bed and onto the bike to head to Nataniel and Raphael's house to then head to the Pyrenees. 1500 feet of elevation gain, and I was feeling good, a hopeful and much anticipated nap was quashed by ants so we opted for another summit a little further away. And then the return. I feel like I am in pretty good shape, but the descent always kills me. Today it hurts to get out of the chair to go get more tea from the kitchen. Sometimes I stopped after a particularly steep slope to comment on something completely random in order to rest my knees and quads. Ouch. Back at the car we started up a conversation with one of the 'locals'. In reality, there are only three in the village who stay there all year round, but this one like many of the natives come back for the spring through fall. The next hour I must have looked very strange. A grin plastered on my face ready at any moment to burst into laughter. This woman and her husband told us about the village, who was doing what, who had moved, who had died, what the interior of a house that was for sale looked like, and when the neighbors came in from Toulouse, I just about lost all control. Too much to take in and experience, it was unforgettable. Such life in these four, all of them leaning with one or both elbows on the balcony, the two men cracking jokes about each other and looking down on us as if we were students in their class. I was very grateful to be there. They were happy to be in retirement, back at their place of birth with their only complaint being that their bodies wouldn't move as fast as their minds.

Thus concludes my vacations in France.

Canal du Midi

Vacation. Two weeks off. What to do? Why not ride along the Canal du Midi! Sure why not. A little history.

From 1667-1694 to open a passage between the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, Paul Riquet conceived and realized this canal that connects the river Garronne, that goes from Bordeaux to Toulouse, to the city of Marseillan next to the sea. It is mostly flat and from Toulouse to Marseillan it actually goes down in elevation a little. Through a series of locks, boats pass all year round from one end to the other. Lakes were created in the Black Mountains to feed the canal during the summer months when the water lever would be significantly lower (average depth is 6 ft). Beside the river are planted about 60,000 plane trees. They were planted for shade, to reduce evaporation, to provide a layer of protection so that the water is not absorbed as quickly into the ground, and to strengthen the banks, but their roots come up on the path and make for some interesting speed bumps.

A fellow teacher, a real one, not like me, and her boyfriend decided to undertake this journey with enthusiasm. We initially wanted to do the whole thing in five days, that is less than twenty miles a day, and I was about as stoked on that as another year of teaching in France. This eventually evolved into 60 km (~36 mi) per day and the return trip as well. So about six days total. Four days in the weather changed, and we decided to head back.

Beautiful weather, between four and five hours of biking each day and plenty of singing and pedaling, and seeing this beautiful country and the people that make it. A typical day would be us getting up at about 9, eating some breakfast, which got bigger and bigger as the days went on, being on the trail by tenthirty and ridingandridingandstoppingandtalkingandridingsomemmore until lunch. That was always the longest part of the day. Mandatory two hour lunch and nap, and then back in the saddle. Another two hours or so, one day three until we arrived at our hotel, tired and happy and ready to eat everything in sight. The pace wasn't all that bad, a cool 9 miles an hour, but constantly getting out of the saddle or posting (fixie term meaning to pedal while lifting your butt off the seat, instead of coasting) to go over a root or rock in the path, that was the tiring part. But I found myself being very content most of the time as we rolled along each day. Saying 'bonjour' to i don't remember how many people and almost falling into the canal once.

The best was seeing this family of seven i think, i don't know if they were all five the kids of these parents, but they had all they needed strapped to their backs, and the kids would shoot off to the next bridge or lock and then wait for their parents who were carrying all the essentials, and rolling at a less than adolescent and pre-pubescent pace. Cheers to parents still getting after it with their kids!

Sign ups are available with me to come back and do it in a few years. Cheers.

Can't believe i forgot to mention them ...

So lately I have been listening to slam poets. Well three in particular. I didn't even think about posting them until I read Garrett's blog and thought, "oh yeah i should do that too...". So the three that I am super into at the moment are Jared Paul, Saul Williams and Anis Mojgani. All three of them have been slam poet superstars at some point in their career. Anis Mojgani being the most recent Slam Poet Champion of 2007.

Jared Paul is a stud. He is quite a bit harsher than the other and rightfully so. His poems are more politically driven and he is very well educated on the matter. He lives in Road Island, conserves water like it is his job and is a social worker and journalist. If you are offended by swear words, not that he uses a ton, or anti-american feelings don't listen to him. He is coming to the PAC in Bellingham on the 24th of April.

Saul Williams delivers his lyrics like no one i have ever seen. He has the ability to speak incredibly fast and still enunciate all his words very very clearly. He got his B.A. in philosophy at Morehouse College, then his masters in acting at NYU, but got into the cafe poet scene soon after. For those of you who were fortunate to see him in concert in Bellingham, I am jealous.

Anis Mojgani's "Revolutionary Chick" got me interested in spoken work at the beginning. While driving down to Smith Rock with BJ going across that flat land before you arrive at Smith Rocks. I woke up from a nap to this northern accent rolling over the seats to my ears. His delivery is passionate, his verses are honest and gripping. He lives in Portland, and if you are going to listen to any of these poets first, listen to Anis.

I'm bad at doing all the links, but go to Youtube and you can find them all.

Vacations in Aix-en-Provence

Voted the sexiest city in France in 2006, David, Cecil, and I headed down to this city for a little more sun and food than we were used to. Cecil's dad is the manager of a vineyard near this city, so we went down to explore the 3000 acres and 250 acres of vineyards they have there.

David and I climbed one day, I really shouldn't have, but couldn't resist. One afternoon we went on a wild asparagus hunt, another into Aix to see what was so sexy about the city. I still don't know what makes it this way, but it sure isn't the frigid wind that was killing us. We had coffee with Cecils brother and his quinque-lingual (5) girlfriend, and came back for one last superb meal until we headed back to Castres for rain and coldness.

Always a great time being with Cecil and David, cheers.

C'est pas vrai (It isn't possible)

Je suis au Lycee Soult après une journée assez chargée. J'etais en train de parler avec quelques profs et je me suis rendu compte qu'il ne me reste que quatre semaines de boulot. Ce n'est pas vrai! Le temps est passé trop vite. J'ai commencé à être à l'aise avec la langue, la ville, ma vie ici en France il n'y a que deux semaines. Tout d'un coup comme ça. Dans sept semaines je pars. Wow. Je commence à me poser des questions comme 'Est-ce-que j'ai profité a fond de cette experience?' 'Est-ce que c'est fini avec la France?' 'Est ce que je reviendrai?' Est ce-que je suis prêt à aller travailler aux USA?' 'Est ce que j'ai fait mon boulot le mieux possible?' Je ne sais pas, mais c'est sûre que il y a eu des hauts et des bas, et je suis quand même resté. Je vais partir beaucoup mieux que la derniere fois. Je rentre aux USA avec une envie de revenir en France au lieu d'un coeur bien dur et noir. Mais ce n'est pas encore fini, j'ai encore plein de montagnes à grimper, conversations à partager, bisous à donner, vin et bière à boire, et frommage à manger. Ciao bella.

I am here at the Soult High School after a pretty long day. I was talking with some teachers and I realised that I onlt have four more weeks of work. I can't believe it! The time has flown by. It wasn't until about two weeks ago that I started to feel realy comfortable with the language, the city, the work, my life here in France. All of a sudden. In seven weeks I leave. Wow. I am starting to ask myself questions like, ' Did I take full advantage of this experience?' 'Am I done with France?' 'Will I come back?' 'Am I ready to have a real job in the States?' 'Did I do my job the best that I could?' I don't know, but it is sure that there were good times and bad times, and I stayed all the same. I am going to leave here a lot better than the last time. I am coming back to the States with a desire to come back to France instead of a hard and dark heart. But it is still not finished... there are still mountains to be climbed, conversatins to be had, people to meet, wine and beer to drink, and cheese to eat. Ciao bella.

Envy, proximity, tristess

These are three words i have chosen to describe the weekend with. Art, Dianna, Jon and Kelly have arrived in France. After a less than stellar ride around the airport they made it to Martina and Farid's house. Happy to be there, but even happier to be out of the car.

The envy came the next day when we left the appartment in our rented Opel to head down to Paris to drop off the girls and then bomb down to Fontainebleau for some world class bouldering. After a little detour provided by me we arrived at classic Font bouldering. Boulder after boulder sticking out of perfect landings. It was a little damp, but we weren't going to let it ruin our time. I was just as excited for Jon and Art to climb, but sadly i couldn't climb at all. My arm is still all messed. We climbed and climbed until we decided to go to Cul du Chien. Think of a white sand beach where you take a handful of rocks and dump them on the beach. That was this place only it was God's hand and there was no water in sight. We stayed until the sun started to go down. Realizing at this point that we hadn't eaten that much we shared the apple and two bananas we had brought and headed back to eat and converse with the Lattars. Our last night in Paris we drove down into the city. It was a perfect Paris by night experience. We saw everything and i got to drive around the Arc du Triomphe which is a crazy roundabout in Paris, at the top of the Champs Elyesee.

Proximity was the ride down to Castres, the not so culturally laden city where I live. There were five of us in the car for more than ten hours on the road. The best part of the day, other than arriving, was when we stopped for lunch. Happy just to be out of the car we went in to get some sandwiches and to stretch. After talking to the girl behind the counter for a second i realized that we were not in the French area of the city. She spoke to me in French, but told her probable uncle in the back our order in Arabic. We had happened upon the Arabic section of this city, and we were in luck. She asked where we were from and genuinely smiled when I told her we were Americans. We ate really good kebabs and fries, and sadly got back in the car where Art proceeded to make a nest in the back to sleep.

Tristesse, sadness, came in two days when at the parking lot of the Intermarche here in Castres we hugged and parted. Jon drove the group to Toulouse to put Art and Dianna on a train to Geneva (should have been Genova, but I didn't ask enough questions, imagine their surprise at Switzerland instead of Italy) and Jon and Kelly went by car back up to Paris to head for Prague. It was great to have them here, but more culturally rich cities await them in other parts of Europe.

Little orange book

Learning a new language means that you are constantly hearing words that you are unfamiliar with. To help with this i carry around a 3x4 Rhodia notebook in my back pocket. By now it is seeing quite a bit of wear, but it has everything in there from journal entries to groceries to email addresses. On my way to go see Art, Dianna, Jon and Kelly in Paris I had to take the metro for a little while, I pulled out my trusty friend to document a small girl with her grandmother who got on the train. For those of you who have ridden public transportation in a big city, you will know what this is like.

She brought immense joy to everyone around her. Unchecked smiles and regards, she was hungry for every eye around her, she was given only a few. She was responsible for the attitude change of half of a Paris metro train, that is power. Usually stressed women asked her about her day, and when the woman next to her left, an oncoming woman pulled down the seat so that her plastic baby could 'sleep'.

This five minute scene got me thinking. The power of innocence, a look and smile purely out of joy. Just a small glimpse of a day.

Tired of being the representative

I was in Caen one night at David’s house when I had had enough. One of David’s friends had come to the house to play some music with David, and the conversation that ensued was typical of first meetings, but I didn’t want to deal with it this time.
Steryotypes. They present a problem. Usually when the conversation turns to the USA there is not a whole lot of positive things said. I try to correct things where I can , but for the most part, I agree with their statements. Still, after an hour of hearing someone dog your country, and multiply that by a few times a month, I don’t care who you are, it gets old. This particular guy proceeded to talk about how he saw on TV one time a girl in the US who didn’t know where Budapest was, she thought it was the capitol of Europe. Fine, like I say here, there are unintelligent people everywhere, but he was telling this story as if I wasn’t there, and then looks at me and asks, “So is it true, Americans don’t know where Budapest is on a map?”

I wanted to say ‘Yes, it is true, we are all complete morons.’…and then punch him in his face. I told him I didn’t know, and I then proceeded to tell him how sick I was of being the mouthpiece for 260 million Americans. I don’t know all of them. But I told him that all of my family, and most of my friends know where it is. And when I told Laura about this, she made the point that if you are going to judge an entire country by the response of one girl to a geography question there is seriously something wrong. Of course for those of us who have traveled it is a no-brainer. And sure some americans don't know this one small detail, but ask Bob or Josh about brewing, Jon, BJ or Garrett about climbing, Eli about anything sportsman, Glen about nutrition, Kevin, Mark or Laura about literature, and they’ll blow your mind.

This is a microcosm of what I am facing here, what the world is facing. But what is even more shocking, and what I realized was that we believe what we see on TV. Almost every commentary I hear here about the US starts out with “one time I saw a report on the US and they said…” The funny thing is that we do the same thing. When we talk about other countries we play off what we see in films and on TV. Some less than others, but for the most part we go off what we 'know'. I would love for someone to approach me and ask me if what they saw was true, or better yet to ask me what my life looks like where I live. They are amazed when I tell them that I am super conscious about what I consume, that I bike more than drive and that I don’t eat McDonald’s or drink Coke.

I wonder about the first conversations that westerners had with people from India, from Thailand, from China. Well of course they weren’t always easy, language difficulties, but I pose the question because I wonder what it was like to have no idea what you were going to find in a place before you got there. It is almost as if there is no room to be curious or to make a cultural, social error. We shy away from asking questions that might not be intelligent not “culturally sensitive” and instead make statements as if we know how ‘it’ all works. I shied away from being myself many times since I have been here because I didn’t want to be ‘that’ American in France. Turns out I am American.

Just a quick example of how trying to be overly culturally sensitive can make you a jerk. I have a girlfriend who is American. I like her. She is funny, she is smart, and sometimes she is loud; especially when she is excited about something. Normal right? Few people are super loud, and especially when you are in the market, it is difficult to hear people’s conversations. So first day Laura is excited to see me and I have the impression that she is yelling in my ear. I let her know and she gives me a look. No less than twice more within the next few days I correct her, until she looks at me and I know I have gone to far.

When we last left our fair hero…

…he was injured, but doing well. But was in desperate need of a break from school. Well a few weeks later that break came. I was so happy to have a few weeks off just to relax and go to see some friends in the north of France. Just to keep you up to date on a few happenings that have gone on. Because of my injury I had to find a new way to keep in some shape, and since my soon-to-be sweet fixie isn’t ready, I decided to start running. A group of us from the CAF (Club Alpine Francais) got together to do a relay run. I did my first 20km (12 miles) race ever, and liked it well enough. I wasn’t so stoked however on the training part. I got real bored real quick.

Just got back from visiting up in the north of the country. I was at Martina and Farid’s house which is just north of Paris, and then for five days I was in Caen, the city where I studied in 2006. The weather was much colder, but as soon as I stepped into the house of Martina and Farid, I was home. I told them that their house is the one place outside of the US that feels like home. They are a part of a ministry here in france called Mimestry. Farid is from Algeria and Martina is from Germany. They went to the US to be trained by a guy named Todd Farley. After their one year training they came back to France to start up their own ministry.

I went up to Caen after a weekend with them, where I wanted to visit some friends who I had met when I was there earlier. The family Robidou was one I didn’t want to miss. As well as David, now having his doctorate in Psycology, and being a great cook, we had a good time just reading, relaxing, eating everything ‘à la crème freche’.

The Saga Continues

The weekend was spectacular. We went to an area called Fauson not but an hour away from Mazamet for some beautiful craging. Line after line of beautiful limestone routes. We all banned together on two 5c’s (5.10a) to start with, and then à chaqu’un son gout (to each his own). I climbed this beautiful 6b (5.10d) to start on and then up my first 7b (5.12a/b) with two big rests. I was so inspired by the movement there and excited that I didn’t have any pain in my arm that I got on a 6c (5.11b) that was super delicate and technical. You had to stay in balance the whole time, all the holds were positive, but just enough that you couldn’t rest all the way through. I was having one of my best climbing days. I could feel my technique changing, using my feet and body much better than normal. More flowing up the rock than climbing 'comme un caillou qui tombe' (like a falling rock).

Then, the morning after…disaster. The same pain, the same place, and rest for another month.
Injured once again. This elbow just continues to be giving me problems. Tendinitis that just won't go away. I haven’t lost heart just yet, I am still high off the climb, but I hope I don’t. There isn’t a lot of asking why, because I know that this isn’t a punishment, but at the same time there is still some ‘slowness’ that I am learning.

Weekend in Ariege

Ariege is in the Pyrenees mountains about two and a half hours from where I live. It was my first outing since I found out I had some tendonitis in my elbow and I was super excited to get going. A group of seven of us went down for a climbing weekend and a bouldering comp. Saturday when we got there the beautiful weather that they had announced was less than, so the multi-pitch we were going to do changed into some steep routes in half rain and the cold. We had a great time none the less, but at four in the afternoon we left to go to the indoor climbing area not but twenty minutes away.

The comp was in an old converted mechanic shop. Sixty routes were set for about as many competitors. We had a little meeting to tell us how it was going to go, and then we had two hours to do climb what we wanted. IT WAS GREAT! For two and a half hours we climbed, I did about nineteen routes, among some conversation and just the general excitement of the room. It was all on an honor system, and it was more like a bouldering session than a comp. Every once in a while a group of about five or more would get super psyched about a problem and a group would form to cheer them on and talk.

That evening we were going to camp, but a friend of a friend asked us to come back and sleep at their apartment. On a fait la fete. We had a party. It might that I am over the party scene, and this is probably the thing, but they could go all night. At about two I was out. It was fun, dancing to Buena Vista Social Club, talking, getting complements on my hat that Laura made for me, and taking pictures with one of our group who was asleep at about 1.

The next day we had blue skies and great temperatures in Calames, one of the sectors there in Ariege. We climbed for hours and hours in the sun, until we decided that we had our fill and our light jackets were not doing the job. Two and a half hours later I was in my apartment feeling much better than my last post.

This is why I call it messy

Written Friday night at 7:30

Uh. I kind of feel disgusting right now. I came home from school at 10:30, took at nap, woke up to go on a run, talked to Laura, and now, under the overhead light of my apartment, I am watching some of the movie 300. So to the group of people who have been following my blog, thanks, and here is a little of the unglamorous part of my life here. Ugh, it is moments like this, and this past week has been one of them, that I sort of feel like I am waisting my life. I have had many people tell me that I am to hard on myself, that I work to hard to be perfect, well I admit to this, but this thing in my spirit/stomach pulls at me and tells me that I was made to do more with my life than eat, sleep and watch worthless movies. Pfriem, thanks for setting an example.

Welcome to the more messy side of my life.

Clairification

I realized that the last post I put up might have sounded a little too sad, like I was counting down the days to come home or something. This was not my intention at all. I am very happy to be here. In fact I was walking to a professor’s house to return an inflatable mattress that she had lent me, thinking how much I know I am going to miss this place when I leave in four months. The conversations about whatever in French, the time alone, the mornings where it is just me and coffee and my journal and nothing to do until the afternoon, this morning for instance, the getting-to-know stages of a job and city and new people.
And with this decision of where to live for the next couple of years in the back of my mind, WA or TN, I am very thankful that I am able to think on that from a distance. Not that it is set, but it is a continual conversations within me here.

I have learned a whole lot while I have been here about myself, Jesus, family, friends, and so on (blogs about this to come soon). Thanks Garen.

The end of the vacation...

I have been back in school for almost two weeks now and i am not super stoked on it. It was so much more fun to be sipping mate with the Argentinian family in Barcelona, or waking up once again to Laura in my apartment, or bombing around in the Volswagon Golf the Loya's rented with us to go to Toulouse and Carcassonne. Or maybe even another bomb dish of something Carlie Loya made while I was at school... but no, I am in school again. Laura left last Sunday, sad, but true, and for the first time I counted up the months until I return myself and there are only four months left!

I wasn't in Barcelona actually. I was in Manresa, a city in Catalonia, not Spain, as Oriol (he is the boyfriend of the Spanish assistant in the same high-school as me) was so happy to tell me. I spent five days, including Christmas with this family, eating more meat than I could imagine, and just having a great time with them, laughing and trying to learn Spanish as I used it as incorrectly as possible. I climbed twice with her brother, Pablo, and we went to Barcelona one day to see the sights and walk around. It is really a beautiful city, especially the Gaudi buildings that are there.

Upon returning on the bus I wasn't super stoked on waiting around in Toulouse for Laura all night, and not wanting to pay for a ticket back home I hitched a ride home to sleep in my own bed, and then the next morning did the same to arrive in Toulouse to meet Laura.

We spent the new year with my friend David and his girlfriend, Cecil. She speaks english well, and David doesn't speak at all, so of course Laura and David got along splendidly through facial expressions and some small translations.

The Loya's came to the fair city of Castres for a long weekend. There were many nights of a great meal, wine, cards ( at which Laura beat us all every time), and just fun conversation.

They left to head to Spain, Laura and I hung out for another week, and then sadly she left to return to Bellingham. My apartment seemed really big and lonely when I returned.
More thoughts to come, but there are pictures galore. Go to flcker!