Messy

good things

2010-05-08T18:17:00.000-07:00

The last few months have been really, really good. I mean, i know that there are some weeks and months that are better than others, for all of us, but by in large i can say that things have been relatively wonderful. My wife first of all is really great and she makes me feel good and she is pretty great at making things out of cloth and she is just plain fantastic.
I have been working a whole lot and feeling pretty good about my activity level which brings me to this post, and picture.
I fixed a friends bike a few days ago and decided that since he lived close to the fire station and I was going to be there today to help out, I thought I would ride there and run back. Not a huge distance, but a fun and good run none the less. It took me about an hour and much twisting and turning and backtracking along Bellingham's great city trail system to finally get home.

Chocolate milk..... The only thing i wanted and my body craved it. And justifying it by reminding myself that somewhere in some wacky, yet reliable, sports magazine, i had read how chocolate milk was one of the best recovery drinks out there. And there is truly NONE better than Twin Brook Chocolate Milk. Local company, reusable bottles, not to sweet by any means, and on a sunshiny Bellingham day that wakes us out of our winter drowsiness and reminds us summer is here, it is true bliss. And summers in Bellingham... the next few months are going to be exceptionally good, yes indeed.

With eager anticipation

2009-03-15T11:07:00.000-07:00

We wait for the day and enjoy all the ones in between. On February 21st I asked Miss Laura Christine Riches to marry me and she said yes. It has been quite the road over the last few years, but the date has been set, there is a ring on her left hand and we are both very, very happy.
The process begins of planning a wedding, turns out I have never done it before, but I am enjoying it none the less. We have a superb community of people here who have volunteered their time and resources to help us. One of them being Garrett Grove, a close friend who offered to take some engagement photos of Laura and I here in Bellingham. As you can see in addition to being a good friend, he is an exceptional photographer.

Having to move on...without wheels

2009-01-23T13:12:00.000-08:00

I would love to say that I gave her up after a long hard fight where I tried tirelessly for hours and hours and blood sweat and tears to revive her, but it wasn't the case.
During the freeze here in Bellingham I forgot, well thought the best of my truck, that I could leave it in sub-freezing temps for over a week with little to no anti-freeze, and it would be fine. Well no. I cracked the block. So for two bills I gave it to a county guy. It was sad to see her go, so sad. With the MBA alumni, American flag and Obama sticker on the back window. It was a running contradiction. So now I have only the bike and Laura's truck... oh wait, yep her head gasket needs to be changed. No car for a while!

A few months and such

2009-01-06T16:39:00.001-08:00

It seems like it has been an eternity since I have updated. Things have been changing for good and scary and scarier. I am still in Bellingham, I have been working the same job as a property manager during the day and by night I am a saver of the Bellingham-outskirts population as a firefighter... well not really. I pulled my first shift the other day which was uneventful. I was nervous the whole time, but we never had a call. I like it a whole heap. I like the part where I get to work on a team, that I am a part of helping people and that I get to be always active. Even at the fire hall, when there were no calls, we did pull-ups and cleaned and just chatted.

On the side I am volunteering for the YMCA. I set routes for the climbing community who flock indoors to wade out the monsoon season here. It has been a challenge, especially the part where I was asked to put up a 5.12. A level that I have only climbed a few times in my life. So my m.o. for this route is if I can barely do the move then it is 5.12.

And then there is The Hub. Oh how I love the Hub. It is the bike shop I volunteer at here. I spent five hours there this past Saturday and it felt like an hour. I was taking apart an older bike to clean and then rebuild it for the shop. They in turn will sell it at a reduced price to someone who will love it. I am learning a whole bunch about bikes this way, and I feel like I am really investing in Bellingham which I like as well. Trouble is I have had this one bike of my own for a little while now that I have been hoping to build up into a fixie, but I take up all my time doing this other bike I don't get to it.

And lastly, and most important is that I have Laura Christine Riches back in my life. Yeah, it is pretty much the sweetest part of me right now. She doesn't complete me, she hasn't made me perfect, she isn't a southern bell, but she is what I want. She is funny, kind, thoughtful, and she is good for me. We're good for each other. There is still a lot we are working through, but I don't know a couple who don't have to. Things are smoother. Nashville was great together. My little nephew and the rest of the family was an absolute joy to be around. And hats off to my sister-in-laws who are the best ones in the entire universe. Thanks Erin and Pace.

Iron and Wine

2008-10-06T13:48:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-01T17:15:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-06T19:23:00.000-07:00

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?

2008-08-23T09:14:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-07T14:56:00.001-07:00

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.

2008-07-24T08:54:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-20T06:32:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-11T08:12:00.000-07:00

"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

2008-04-28T02:52:00.001-07:00

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

2008-04-17T04:08:00.000-07:00

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 ...

2008-03-27T10:27:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-25T00:23:00.000-07:00

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)

2008-03-20T09:30:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-16T06:54:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-13T01:39:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-06T01:41:00.000-08:00

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…

2008-03-05T23:41:00.000-08:00

…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

2008-02-01T12:18:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-28T00:44:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-20T13:38:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-17T03:37:00.001-08:00

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...

2008-01-10T06:06:00.000-08:00

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!

Tired, cold, mad: bad combination

2007-12-21T13:39:00.000-08:00

Just plain mad. I exited my apartment in a flurry with all kinds of bad French words in my head ready to hit the first person that gave me a bad look. Still the heat problem here, and today I was given a gas heater which when turned off, smokes. Lovely. It is ten thirty in the evening here, I wanted to go to bed, but the adrenaline from the conversation and the fumes that still linger even with the windows open are keeping me awake. So I fume, the wind whips through my apartment and well Merry Christmas to all of you.
It has been a little while since I have written I have been in kind of a funk lately. I am tired, frustrated not to be able to climb, so I am running. I didn’t realize how much I really don’t like it, but I have a race coming up in a few months so I have to put in the time. Laura is coming soon, followed by the Loya’s so all that will be really nice.
And in two days I leave for Barcelona to be with the Spanish assistant, her family and boyfriend and little baby, Martina. Just turned one. I promise that I will post pictures of this trip and write a little something as well.
Merry Christmas. Some I will see sooner than others…

Done

2007-12-04T13:56:00.000-08:00

Well that is about it. One week in the life of an American in France. It was such a great exercise and it really made me think about every day and highlight one thing that was meaningful or stuck out to me. The literary part was fun as well, I would end up with two hundred words, and then have to shave them down to half sentences. I will definitely do more of it in the future, but for the moment, I think I am tired. Not tired of writing, just tired. Tuesdays are the long days, up at six thirty, and I am just now getting home, it is eleven. I ate at Jean Baptiste's apartment after climbing, well I taught them ultimate instead. He is coming to my place Thursday to have soup. Well here goes my first French soup called Pot-au-feu, it is considered a classic French dish. And yes, this is one hundred and sixty words.

2.12.07

2007-12-02T13:29:00.000-08:00

The lights are up. Waves of yellow hang over the walking streets of Castres, signaling the Christmas season merriment. Maybe once or twice a week I go on a night walk. Nowhere in particuar, just to be out at night and see the city. Kids yelling outside McDonalds, a couple enjoying an after dinner stroll, the Domino’s delivery guy on a scooter. I happily talk to my parents for a bit, they don’t know it but they have called during church. I don’t have one here. Tonight I decide that the streets will be my sanctuary, a conversation with the Father the sermon. Reassurance is the message. Almost immediately as I pass the train station, there is a presence. Nothing said, just a calm and I am thankful. Thankful mostly for the people I know, the opportunity to be here; the fact that I am alone. It has taken almost ten weeks to be thankful for that, but I am.

1.12.07

2007-12-01T14:11:00.000-08:00

I don’t like Paris much. Too big, dirty, impersonal, daunting, expensive. Toulouse however is another matter. I pulled myself out of bed at eight thirty, wanting to visit the Saturday market. I make the tour first to see what is there. Old men selling eggs and honey. Women selling pumpkins and clumps of garlic. All is sufficiently surveyed, I go back once more, hands out of my pea coat, ready to harvest for the week. Eggs, carrots, cabbage, a pre-made soup mélange, cheese. I ask for two I like, then ask him to propose something, highly recommended. An old cantal. Strong, breaks like parmesan. Running home with my treasures, Nico, David and Cecil are on the street. I am late. Today is a trip to Toulouse for wandering and presents. The city has rain. I can’t remember any of the sounds, only the feeling of contentment. Buying doesn’t entice, I go in on a Frisbee. Dinner for one at nine.

30.11.07

2007-11-30T15:21:00.001-08:00

I taught my first official, sweaty underarm, dry throat, all in French class today. In front of thirty-two kids and one economics teacher I talked about my ‘financial testimony in America’. It felt fairly natural. Class started at eight, one student. We talked about video games. The two afternoon classes were equally inspiring, but after I did get to encourage one of the guys who was trying, despite the two girls around him making fart noises. Apparently, the headmaster made a few decisions that have rendered the Lycee Soult less than tranquil. The profs are uniting next week to form their response. I am part of the French Alpine Club here. The one hundred ninety participants got together to look at the pictures from the year, eat and drink; talk. I starred in three pictures. Nico’s mom came to get us at 11. Good thing, I used up all my good French for the day. It was going downhill quick.

29.11.07

2007-11-29T14:01:00.000-08:00

Not a usual Thursday, but welcomed. I slip easily into habit. Trying to be disciplined to work on lessons at night makes it tough to touch the floor four hours before the bus the next day. Heaving myself out of bed, donning spandex and a shirt I ran my hill course. I only have two routes, this is my favorite. The space heater warmed the bathroom so upon returning the shave and shower were delicious. Ninety minutes until departure. I drink coffee and read. Grab the bus at eleven twenty-five, the slightly grumpy pony-tailed blond woman chauffeuring. A quick prep for class; perfect; the class I dread is next week. Three classes, ending at five, debates raised more emotion than I thought. Substituted soccer for watching climbing. Tendonitis equals no climbing. Nico and his mom took me home while recounting Sarkosy’s speech on TV. Note to self, ‘Friends’ does not inspire. Wrote, ate the last bit of food, bed.

28.11.07

2007-11-28T11:19:00.000-08:00

Rotten apples spoil the bunch; a rotten kid can ruin your day. I try. Try to make the topics interesting, but today one kid would not shut up. Tried to ignore him, nothing. He was interrupting with useless English words. The third straight hour of teaching and thankfully the last, I was a little tired and edgy. Raphael, who took me home, gave me ammunition I can use to discipline them. Made it home before one and don’t have class for twenty-four hours, so I take the afternoon off. Looking for a pot to cook soup in, hesitated, to big? Left empty-handed. Right to the lovely library. I like it there, the clientele is interesting. Came home, napped, spent time being quiet in front of Jesus, and made crepes while talking to Laura on Skype. Looking for class ideas so watched some episodes of Friends. Yannick called. Quickly crawled into sub-zero bed, the first five seconds are the worst.

27.11.07

2007-11-27T13:46:00.000-08:00

Tuesday starts with the game of see-how-long-I-can-stay-in-bed-until-I-HAVE-to-brave-the-freezing-air. It lasts till 6:45. I happily walk past the busses I have missed twenty minutes ago. Meet Angelina at the municipal electric building to drive to school. Thirty-minute small talk session. She shushes me to hear about the riots that happened south of Paris. First class doesn’t show because they have to make up another class. I wander to the teacher’s lounge to fill five hours between classes. The university kids here are on strike; so to be ‘one’ all the high school kids decide to follow suit. However, one of my friends is an organizer and decides to call it off because most just want a day off. I eat lunch with the teachers; teach two classes that average out to be below bearable, and meet my ‘new’ Peugeot mountain bike. Dragging it over to the climbing wall, I freeze for four hours before Jean Baptist takes me home.

One week, onethousandonehundredandtwentywords

2007-11-26T13:50:00.000-08:00

Brandon encouraged me to write everyday, and not just for me.
I saw this challenge in action as a friend had to write a story in 160 words exactly for a contest. On my run today I decided to do the same. This is one week. Seven days where I will write 160 words exactly about each day. It is so that a week will be documented, so that all of you will be in the know, and for me, I am trying to be a better writer so this is good practice.
Welp, here it goes.

26.11.07
My week doesn’t really begin until Tuesday, I will have to have a less than stellar intro day. Monday, there is not a whole lot open with, I don’t do much really. Recoup from the weekend, I slept in this morning till 10:30. And plan for the week. I spent a little over a half an hour under the table reading and journaling. Why under the table? No heat save a small space heater so I put it under the table, put a blanket over and called it good. I did yoga in my freezing kitchen, and then sat on the computer for a few hours, looking at pants, dietary changes to help tendonitis, and ideas for lessons. A run along a city path. Flat and oddly crossing streets. Passed by old women on a walk, slowly moving, but moving none the less, they smiled at me, ‘bonjour’s all around. Made a rice, lentil, quinoa salad. Worked some more. Bed.

Regional food

2007-11-13T01:14:00.000-08:00

One of the many interesting things about France and most of Europe for that matter is that back in the day, people didn’t travel a whole heap. However mundane and sleepy this statement may be to start out a blog entry, stay with me, the crescendo is coming.

So since Frenchies didn’t go many places, and had to make a living with what they had, they started taking those things that grew well in their area and making France the culinary mecca it is. For instance, in the north of France, cows liked the open areas and helped to make some of the best Brie and Camembert in the world, if not the only. Apples also grew surprisingly well in the climate and tended to like the rain and wind and soil, much like in Washington. They take these apples and make the best lightly fermented cider you have tasted, and for those, like me, who like it a little stronger, there is Calvados. Beautiful amber color, sweeter than most like it, but strong and delicious. And with the French when two things are good, sugar and cream, meat and cheese, butter and chocolate, why not mix them? You got it, mix whatever parts cider and Calvados in a tall glass and you have a Pommeau [ pronounced pom-o, French for apple is pomme]. Usually served before dinner, or as a sedative if drank alone.

Near Chamonix up in the mountains it is cold and a little tough in the winter, but les dames, (the ladies) the cows, as they are called, like the sweet alpine grass and the cool mountain streams so this is where we get fondu (bread dipped in melted cheese) and a delicious dish known as raclette. Raclette is cheese melted in a small open oven in the middle of the table, and then scraped onto a plate full of potatoes, thinly sliced meat, onions and pickles. Well really you could have half a sock on your plate if you wanted, and once you put that melted cheese over it, you’d probably like it just as well. Although neither one of these plates are particularly light, they are good when it is negative 10 outside and there isn’t much to do but try and stay warm.

In the West there are delicious wines in Burgundy area, Seafood galore in the south, sauerkraut and sausage in Strasbourg near Germany, and as for me…well I got to try the specialty of the my region last night at a local restaurant.
Here in the region of Tarn the specialty is fois gras, which is goose liver, as well as a main dish called Cassoulet.

The next entry will be about my experience tasting these treats, but while we are on the subject of regional food.

My father is a gardner, by hobby, not profession, but he darn well should be. I have never in my life tasted a better tomato than the ones from dad’s garden. Not even a heirloom tomato sold in Bellingham for $6 a pound at the farmer’s market compares to the taste and texture my dad produced in his tomatoes this year. Organic has nothing on these fruits. Blood meal is about the harshest thing he puts down for them, that and a truckload of carefully chosen ripe manure from the local stalls.

So the challenge to myself is to get out to the public library here and learn all I can about growing stuff. Who knows, when my folks retire, and if this takes off, maybe dad will be the community farmer. Or maybe I will learn enough to take care of my household and maybe create a local delicacy of my own?

The Meal

2007-11-13T01:11:00.000-08:00

A friend, David, from the climbing club picked me up with his girlfriend, Cecil, at about three in the afternoon because he wanted to take me to this place and treat me to a real Cassoulet. I talked about this with them last night, but in America if I were to take you out to dinner, I would pick you up, we would go straight to the restaurant, eat, then leave and I would take you home. That is the short, of it, but that is usually how it goes. Here, no no no no. That doesn’t work. We walked around Castres, my city, for a little while, bought some good beers for the before dinner snack, he choose a Belgiun, I chose one from Corsica. We got a little fois gras, went to get some bread in Mazamet, then up in the hills to walk a little in a midevial town called Hautpoul. Braving the wind and cold we made our way down to a wooden toy shop, then hiked back up to the warmth of the car. It was really enjoyable. He is a sweet guy. Loves to climb, lives in a cool little house with his girlfriend, and their cat. Anyway, while his girlfriend went out to get groceries because they didn’t want to do it on Sunday, we sat and chatted and he showed me all his favorite books, and favorite comic book artists, the chair he was going to buy for his birthday to start what would be his library, and talked climbing. I will say, I have noticed that French as a whole read much more than Americans. Just a side note. Once his girlfriend returned we sat down with our beers and fois gras, pate, and bread and had a delicious pre dinner meal. We were all super hungry, and had to stop ourselves from eating to much. Off to the restaurant!

It is this little place outside of town where you have to make a reservation before coming, but it isn’t all that expensive and the food is about as authentic as you will find. The two servers rush around putting things on the open grill, taking orders, busing tables, and laying down plates of traditional French fare. For us, there was no choice, Cassoulet. It is made with white beans, duck legs, a few different kinds of sausage from the region and some pork for flavor. Heavy, yes, but not as heavy as you are thinking. The trick is the beans. Just to cook them you have to make a stock out of all kinds of vegetables and pork bones, which in itself is a delicious soup. And the trick is you can’t over cook them. There is a fine line, and these beans cannot fall apart and become a puree when you serve them. I tend to do this when I make black beans, but I like the texture better a little more mushy. In any case, when this maneuver is done, you layer some pork, cooked beans, sausages, beans, sausage, beans, then the duck legs, and more beans. Cover it all with the stock from the beans, and it goes into the oven for another hour or so. It simmers until the top beans just start to turn brown. You have a little bit of crust on top that is super flavorful plus all these fun treats inside that have been baked in the broth. Fatty duck, sausage, pork. Fat city right? Nope. I don’t know how they pulled it off, but there was NO floating oil or anything in the sauce, it really did seem light. You better believe all the sauce that was left on the plate gets wiped up quickly with the table bread. Mmmmmmm.

Interestingly enough, Cecil’s dad is a winemaker in the south, but Cecil doesn’t like alcohol at all. I am the American of the group and David, tries, but admittedly, he is no wine expert. So David asks our server for a wine that would go well with the cassoulet, half bottle of course. The woman brings us the bottle and opens it so that it can breath. This was the first time in my life that I tasted a wine, didn’t like it all that much, but the taste totally changed with the meal. It complemented the beans and the duck meat perfectly.

We sat for another forty-five minutes digesting, while the servers were rushing about. We talked about life in France, and some of the differences for me I have noticed. I tried to tell stories about being in Bellingham and Nashville and the organic movement there. Family, friends, telling funny stories isn’t all that easy in another language I have found. I have been trying to make soup lately, it has been going well, but Cecil is apparently an expert so she was giving me tips, but it all stopped when dessert came.

Think of the richest plain yogurt you can think of, solid, almost like ricotta cheese, but light and in about a six ounce container. It comes raw, no pasteurizing or anything from a little village about seven miles away. You empty it out onto your tiny plate and then with the little dish of honey they have brought you, drizzle ever so lightly, or generously, as you want and then be carried away into dairy heaven for the next ten bites. It was heavenly. When we finally pushed back from the table it was ten thirty, a slow two hour dinner is always healthy.

Upon returning to my apartment, I went straight to bed, got up this morning and without even the slightest need to eat set out for a long, long walk along the river under gray skies, and glowing trees of tangerine, yellow, and deep blood red all around. Back to the apartment to make some more soup.

Alps, days, and keys…

2007-11-09T04:44:00.000-08:00

This is going to be a longer entry so grab your favorite hot beverage, sit down to laugh, cry and get a peek into the last two weeks of French life.

We are in the holiday’s of Toussaints, which is All Saints Day. High schoolers get almost two weeks off for this holiday to be with family and put flowers at graves of relatives. For me, it was a little sad when the bell rung on that last Friday. I missed a little more than I would like to admit being with my family and such, but the saving thought was the trip coming up with the climbing group from Mazamet.

Four days in the Alps. A place called Le Verdone. It is considered the Grand Canyon of France. It is a different sort of climbing, not like Indian Creek or anything, but it is calcite rock which is super sticky until you have a few years of grease and food scum on it, then it gets a little ‘skatey’ as they say here. And to get to the base of the cliffs you either have to go thirty minutes out of your way and walk another half hour to get to the base, or you rappel down as many pitches as you want to do and then climb up. First day was pretty easy for everyone, about 6 pitches and we got in before dark. I was super stoked to do this one climb called La Demande, a 13 pitch, 5c-6a (5.10-5.10c) route that was dubbed one of the most beautiful climbs in Europe. Had to be done.

Well this day, day two, we decided to rappel down, and after some route finding and all that climbing stuff, we got on the wall at 1:30. I was optimistic, my partner for the day Dave was as well, but I was going to have to lead all the pitches if we were going to be out by dark. So we headed out, but before we left they gave me a headlamp “just in case”. I reluctantly put it in my pack and started up the next pitch. It really was beautiful. There were some hard pitches in there, and it was marked in the guide book that it was bolted, but thirty feet between each bolt is a little sketchy at points. Pitch seven and we were more than half way there. David came up over the lip to the belay station, smiling as he does, and said, “Et alors?” (and so?) it means more than this usually and in this case it meant, “So what do you think, it is 4:30 we have about three more hours of climbing and about an hour and a half of sunlight, do we go for it or head back down?” He was tired I knew, I was to really. A little more mentally than physically, but what I am learning about climbing is that there is a goal that is to be reached, and it is good to go for that will all you have, but the fun is in the process, and you have to know when it is time to say done. I said done.

We were at the last rappel, pulling the rope throught, using headlamps that I was happy to have, and i was in the process of telling David to be careful because there was a knot in the end of the rope, and just as i said it, the rope came out of his hand and there it was, a knot at the end of the rope dangling in the void, 15 feet or so from us. At the end of thirty minutes it came back to David’s hand and we continued the decent. Once on the ground though, we had another 6 miles to walk. We started in the wrong direction. But in about the third mile in the right direction, and no one stopping to give us a ride, one of the guys from our group came to get us. We had a little run in with a wild boar as well, but only some snorting and russling in the bushes, enough to give me a little fright at least.
We thought that we were going to get it from the rest of the group, but come to find out that there was still another group on the wall and by this time it was close to ten in the evening. We helped fish the other two off the wall while huddling near each other and jumping around to fight the cold North wind that was coming down on us. We all made it back, no problem, but I was still aching for that send of La Demande.

It was just going to be two of us again the next morning. A younger climber Nico and myself. After waking early and getting all our stuff together we had upped out numbers to three because Jeremy, who is one of the stronger climbers there, 5.12d, decided to come along. It was a relief to have someone else take the lead every other pitch, because if not I would have been out of gas for the last pitches which were the hardest. At nine in the morning we set off from flat ground to spend the next seven hours jamming our fingers in cracks, stemming up slippery chimenies and looking behind us every little while at the floor that was getting further and further away. The leaves were changing and the temps were perfect, it was a great day to send a good route.

I found out I love chiminies. We had just punched through our first real chimney and Jeremy said how he didn’t really want to lead the next one, so I took the lead. I was on some bad holds, pulling a little to hard when my feet slipped and my right pointer finger caught onto a good corner...ooo that hurt. When I looked down blood was pouring out of a dime sized peeler in my finger and Jeremy in polite French told me that it was dripping on him. “Oh sorry” I said and taped it up as best I could after flinging some of the blood on the wall just for good measure. I finished out the last beautiful pitch and then it was an easy exit to the rest of our party waiting for us all to cheer us and congratualte us. Beer and conversation followed that evening, and all but I was to climb the next day.

But the story is not over. After 5 more hours in the car to get to Mazamet. I was in the car with a friend and his mom to give me a lift to my house when I thought I should get out my keys. Good idea, except that I couldn ‘t find them. I all but emptied my entire sack out in the back seat there to look for them, and I found nothing. Welp... what now. Luckily I live in a place where there is a common door and then seperate appartment, I knocked on the door and happily there was someone just in the hallway there. He let me in, told me it was stupid that I lost my key, as if i was happy about it, and proceeded to the back garden to see if I could get into my bathroom where I knew that the window was broken.

After a hop up onto an about-to-fall-shack, hold onto the side of the house and switch feet in a small vent hole I was just able to reach my window, climb in and go to the front door. GREAT! Not only do I have no keys, but the only way to lock and unlock my door is with a key. Downclimb to my stuff, link up all the quickdraws I had and haul all my stuff up one bag at a time. After two bags, I had to climb down once more to call Laura an hour later than scheduled. Upon the return I only wanted a shower and a bed, I turned on the water and there was only cold. Well, no shower. To bed. I still didn’t get my key, which was in the car i drove to Verdone in, until a day later, and there were plentyt more stories of being locked out of the outer door for hours, pleading with the neighbor to let me in later, and then finally getting my key at seven in the morning the next day.

Well as for adventures and stories, I hope that there are more to share with you, I know that there will be.
Cheers

Milemarker

2007-10-30T09:33:00.000-07:00

I am officially a French functionaire (which means governmental employee). Today I looked at my account to see where I was at in euros, and there it was triple digits and all. What did I feel there? Proud. I sort of wanted to turn to the middle age woman behind me in line and say, “um, excuse me, but I am an American being paid by your government, how bout it?” I think this constitutes my first real job out of college, yep put it on the resume I’m doin’ it. So what did I do with my newfound resolve and excitement? I went to the closest grocery and bought some Gruyere cheese, a huge beer made in Alsace, which is near the German border, and went home to eat a good meal, drink this lovely beer and write a few letters.
Cheers

Wedding all done.

2007-10-22T06:47:00.000-07:00

The wedding is over, I am once again back in an airport. Waiting again to get on a plane and wait again.

Congratulations to Stuart and Erin who have started their lives together yesterday. It was a perfect wedding in many ways, the weather, the fun, the food, the lighting, the location, all the family chipping in to help and make it special. I was only in my home town for 48 hours almost exactly, but every minute was worth it. Breakfast at Crackle Barrell, rehersal dinner with us all around the same table, last minute thoughts and bird seed to buy, cakes that taste more like fudge, wedding felt more like it should.
Thanks to all of you who were there, and I say to you two Stu and Erin, enjoy the journey, you have embarked on a new road together. Enjoy it. Pictures will come soon I promise.

And so the first week is over.

2007-10-18T19:39:00.000-07:00

It took a little more out of me than I thought it was going to, but I am happy where I am. It feels different to not be physically exhausted after a day of work. It is different to use your mind instead of your back to make a living. The kids were great I have seniors (Terminals) through sophomores (Premieres) who have proved to be a little difficult, but it will be good. I was prepared, but not near enough. The teaching was easy, it was the prep that caught me off guard.

I am sitting in my kitchen, as I do here in Castres most evenings, going over some new lesson ideas for next week and packing for a climbing trip up into the Pyrenees. I got hooked up with the local climbing club here and in less than two sessions at the local wall, they invited me to come and spend the weekend craiging and then some class IV alpine up somewhere. Didn’t so much pack for this one. However Ryan you will be pleased to know that I did bring my spandex along, so those will prove helpful and for the top all I have is my down green Patagonia and a few more light tops that I will layer like hell to keep warm, dirtbag alpine? Does that exist Josh?

I will post photos soon ya’ll I am having to do it all from the school and there is all kinds of malfunction problems. I am going to be getting internet here in the apartment soon, so take heed all y’all skypers, I will be online maybe next week.

And about next week the Verner clan has yet again pulled together to buy their son and brother a flight back to the states for Stuart and Erin’s wedding that will be next weekend, the 20th. So I will leave Toulouse, France at 12:45 on Thursday, get to Nashville that night at 9 stay until Sunday afternoon about 4 and head back to France to be at work on Tuesday.

The way it all went down

2007-10-04T07:07:00.000-07:00

I put my phone in the mailbox at the airport just about an hour before I was planning on leaving for Paris. I was on a companion pass for the way there, and had done all the necessary tricks I could think of to get on the plane. I hung out at the gate all day just so that they would know who I was and that I had paid to play so to speak.
Strike number one, the guards change every flight. Well no matter, the attendants had told me that the flight was tight, but “you never know”. Right.
Twenty minutes before the flight was supposed to take off a mass crowd of what looked like to be geriatric tourists. They all filed in and I was the only one left. No space…NO SPACE!
I was to start school that Monday, this was Wednesday. I still didn’t have a place to stay nor much of anything else planned out. I needed to get on that flight and the next wasn’t until the next afternoon.
“London or Frankfurt”, the lady said in a distinctive French accent. Looked at the board to see which one was leaving when…London in 5 min, Frankfurt later that evening.
I took the London. 6 hours later after hardly eating and sitting next to an extremely talkative English 20 year old wanting nothing more than to be ‘proper drunk’ as soon as he touched down in England.
When I landed and then went through customs, no bags. ‘Hmm’, I thought, ‘that is strange.’ I did remember that I had two bags that I checked on to the plane. Well at least my stuff made the plane to Paris. Half a day, the tube, EuroStar, another train to Paris Airport, totaling about $250, I was reunited with my bags. Not end of story sadly.
Bought a overnight train ticket to Toulouse and then to Castres. Nice enough, thought I would sleep, but it was to hot and I couldn’t get my head to turn off or feel even somewhat comfortable in three day old dress clothes. Arrived in Toulouse because I had to change trains, lost the transfer ticket. Perfect. Bought another one, but being so tired I said Mazamet the city I am working in, not the city I live in. Ran with 100lbs of baggage to get the wrong train, had to get off and buy yet another ticket finally to Castres by bus.
Eight hours later I was shown the apartment and took it without a question.
Having only my liner for covers I took the curtains down and for the first time in 84 hours, I slept.

Breathing Deeply

2007-09-26T07:17:00.000-07:00

The first and most stressful part of the trip is over. I am in the Oakland airport at 8:05 pm after getting up at 4:10 am in Tacoma, flying to California leaving my 90lbs of baggage to the airline hoping that they would be there twelve hours later, going into the city, getting this visa, which was almost enough to make me throw up anyway, meet a friend for dinner, and then get back to the airport to make a 10:05 flight to Atlanta then onto Chicago.

The visa!
This is now my third trip to San Francisco for a visa. The first time wasn’t pretty but it got done, the second was a failure all together, and this time it went off without a hiccup.
If you have had the distinct privilege of getting a visa, you know that it is bureaucratic and has more to do with the mood of the person giving you the visa than the actually requirements. Thank God I got one of the good humored ones. Again thank you all who have been supportive.

'Quiet time' redeemed

2007-07-18T14:42:00.001-07:00

Due to life taking some turns within the last few weeks, graduating, accepting an opportunity to go teach in France, seeing friends move further away, feeling the pull of home, breaking up with a great girl, I had to just get quiet. The feeling was disconnect. There is a line in a worship song that goes, "too many voices vying for attention"... and this was and is me. I have been so bombarded with outside voices I have lost touch with the one that is most important... the one inside me. The voice that I do believe is governed by Jesus, and what makes us come alive when we follow it.
I have been anything but alive for the past few weeks. Stress galore, trying to 'figure out' this relationship...it just doesn't work like that.

so i left

I went up to Winchester Mountain in the cascades. I took some food and a book, Prince Caspian, my journal and my bible. I didn't open my bible, I wrote about four lines in my journal and I finished the book. I walked around a little, but I made myself sit mostly, for 36 hours. On the way up I had to lay down all the pressure I had been feeling, all the pressure I was putting on this trip to be the fix all. I freaked out the first night, just about packed up and went home... I am so glad I didn't.

In a society where we are battered by noise, suggestions, and marketing tactics...what better way to listen than be in silence.

a talk in the upper room

2007-03-17T01:07:00.000-07:00

Earl and I found ourselves in a conversation one night a little while ago. It was February 26th actually and there was a little rethinking that needed to be hashed out. In addition to other topics such as counseling and friends, and the need to just talk thinks out, i just started talking about what has been going on and Earl became what I needed. He listened. He let me talk and he said things back to me that needed to be said and in general just listened.

I have used the phrase over and over again, "I just don't feel myself." I use this to describe France, I use this to describe the last few months of being home, I have used this everywhere. I was trying to get back for so long to a place I was to the person I was before I left for France, last summer... "But Hunter," I felt like the Lord said " that isn't the point". So what is? Yet another quote from the journal, "The point is that you are becoming someone new. There is no turning back, there is no going back to the old Hunter, he won't/doesn't exist anymore." At that point in the upper room with Earl there was a little bit of hope that came into my heart. Hope that I hadn't experienced in a while. So I am not scared anymore, in fact I am pretty excited. I still don't know what any of this is going to be like, I see some of the person Jesus is making me to be, come through, it is a little scary. But I do feel less scared, less of a need to be in control. It is going to be different. I feel lighter, more free, and I think that this is more Jesus than I have experienced in a while.

to have worked

2007-02-25T20:43:00.000-08:00

I looked down at my arms this evening as I sit to start homework that is due tomorrow. Dirty, a little beat up, tired, I have done battle with my truck this entire day. Trying to change the timing chain and gears, although I spent all day just trying to get to them, I am far from done.
But I do have a small sense of accomplishment. I like that I gave it a try, I like that I am dirty. It was an entire day outside, some of it under a tarp to try and stay dry as I took apart my engine part by messy part.
The life application... this is what is happening to me, I feel like my truck at this point. Sort of spread out over the ground, messy, covered in coolant and grease, dirty. A little chaotic. As I looked at all the nuts and bolts and parts, I was trying to remember where everything went and which parts went where, I should have written it all out. Like I said it was a perfect metaphor for what I am going through. The hope though, and I am trying to look at this more and more, is that there is a better and a bettering that is happening here. That is all.

the defining moments

2007-02-07T14:56:00.000-08:00

In this story of restoration the significant points are worth mentioning because, well, they are significant. I can remember specifically four of them. The first came almost immediately when I got back to Tennessee around my brother Brandon and his wife Pace. It took all of about a day I think, I remember riding in the car with Brandon going somewhere, can't remember where, but instead of a happy and fun ride I felt like I was the black hole. Sucking in all life and happiness and fun and killing it. Not at all on purpose, but because of the hurt I was trying to figure out on my own. Forced laughs, trying to be in the moment with my brother there in the car, but all I could think about was myself, France, and what the hell happened there?
Brandon and Pace are relentless and as I have described them in the past, my cheerleaders. They are for me in ways I haven't expected, none of it I don't think is out of the ordinary, but I have been encouraged by them so consistently to not settle for hum drum. This time was no different. Through awkward silences in the car and forced laughs from me, it finally came down to them inviting me over to see Afton, hang with them and just talk. They let me spill, they listened for over a half an hour, for me just to get the cobwebs out. They sat, listened, asked questions, made me be present there with them in that room and then just prayed for me. Both of them listening to the Lord, calmly, for me, nobody else.
Out of that time of them praying and me just sitting, the picture that came was a wall, a huge big foreboding wall that was starting to have the first signs of cracks in it. This was a good thing.
I had killed something in Sweden and this crack in this wall, this fracture in this unconquerable force was going to eventually lift off. I was feeling lighter though.
I would love to say that it lifted immediately, but I am glad it didn't, it is still coming off to this day.
From there I will describe three other events that were huge in this process. The second was hanging with an old roommate and good friend Ryan Wapnowski in Bellingham. He has always been a source of good conversation and just one of those people who carry peace, and life and love with them as naturally as water falls. He made me a few presents, as he is in the habit of doing and one of them happened to be a remarkable quote that he had written out and then read aloud to me. It was superb. One of the lines was about standing on the banks of a silvery lake illuminated by the moon and screaming "yes" to living and loving. I had to do this. After Ryan walked home with me, I got on my Softride bike and under a beautiful full moon I biked to the lake not five miles away. When I got there, standing at the banks in the freezing clear night I declared that I would not be controlled, I wouldn't lose one more day to this funk I was in and then yelled "NO" with all my might and an entire lung full of air, leaving in one huge noise in less than a second. I rode home lighter still.
Then five days later, February 6th 2007 I was to be in class, but I intentionally missed class, I think that makes 5 in my college career, to sit and write out what was going on in my heart and head. It took about an hour, but a part of what came out was this:
"For me to change has always meant that you [God] will sit there waiting with arms crossed for me to "fucking get it right. Hunter, this is as far from the truth as you can get., Jesus in you means I am with you always, I am changing you from in here. And thank you for that, but I want more, always. I want to be better for the people around me, I want to be better for this world, I want to bring life. My life life is being hidden by this dark cloud of self-importance. Does my desire need to change? No, my desire is to share with people hope and love and life, but only because I know that I was made for people, I was not made for myself. I was never made to isolate myself..."

A fear realised...

2007-02-07T14:46:00.000-08:00

In 2005 I participated in a ministry training school on the island of Cyprus. I was there for six months doing everything from outreach to scrubbing bathrooms and from learning how to live in community to severe personal change. In any case we had each week to answer a few questions creatively in this journal. One week we were to write out our most daunting fear, either spiritual or physical I can't remember exactly, my greatest fear is this: to be emotionally and spiritual dead. To spend the days, weeks, months of my life in front of the TV or doing something that my heart is not in. To not be effected by an event, to not feel passionately about anything, to not feel at all. To not see Jesus in people, to not be able to hear His voice, to not love. I never want to be in that place.

Well in fact I got as close to that fear as I ever want me to be, I got right up next to it and was just about to throw my hands up when i got back from France to Tennessee on December the 20th, 2006. I was around the family that I loved, a new nephew that I hadn't even seen before and I could hardly experience any of it. I couldn't feel. I had killed something inside of me while I was overseas and it was in danger of being lost forever. As the story goes and as God would have it, there is restoration. It is slow and like in movies, hell, like in real life things heal slower than we would like. This thing called my heart, this thing that died in me as I was in Sweden and France is slowly, painfully slowly, coming back to life again.

The messy times

2007-02-07T09:27:00.000-08:00

So I am starting this as I do many a thing in my life, to battle something else. Running to combat laziness, college to make sure my head doesn't turn to mush, biking to reduce waste, but this time it is a blog to war against my tendency to isolate myself. I've got this problem, well these problems, but one of them is that when I am not the upbeat person I want to be, I hide and try to hunker down until the dark cloud of Hunter's moodiness and self-improvement rolls over.

This time, the cloud has stayed for a little longer than usual and so me isolating myself has turned into not knowing how to interact with people. I am constantly wanting friends and people to ask the right questions, to say the right things and in general know exactly what I need as I go through this time, rather unrealistic to be honest. Five months of this mentality and isolation has left me a little worse than when I started, but it isn't over and I am not ready just yet to give up.

At the risk of being hoest, at the risk of bearing all the raw emotion and frustration I have had, at the risk of being known for who I really am, this blog is going to happen. Like a friend in France said to me, " Tu dois oser." (You have to dare)