Author Archives: janaremy@gmail.com

holding it in…

After a few attempts to get up the rock wall last night, my climbing partner observed that I seemed unusually stressed.  She suggested that I just hang out for a bit and talk before I got back on the wall.  When she pointed that out, I realized just how wound up my body was–I was talking a bit too fast, holding my shoulders tight, creasing that space between my eyebrows…I wasn’t climbing particularly well, either–I was too tense to stretch and reach and feel confident.

There are days when things tend to cluster in my life (and in my mind), and worry overtakes me for awhile–even when it’s sort of simmering beneath the surface and I don’t realize it.  The various things that are concerning me right now: moving, job, research, health, kids…they are impacting me far more than I’d like to admit.  My back muscles are taut, my throat feels sore, my food isn’t digesting well, and I’m wishing away some of my responsibilities.

I know this will pass and tomorrow or the next day I’ll feel relaxed and lighthearted again.  But some days…are just harder than others.

to travel well…

Gorde, Provence

It is better to travel well than to arrive.
~Buddha

This time around, my traveling took on a new pattern.  Instead of making a long list of ‘must-see’ places, I carried some guidebooks and maps around (on my iPad–so convenient), and let serendipity guide much of my wanderings.  The second and third days in Provence I had no reservations and no firm plan except that I had a vague notion of wanting to see St. Remy-de-Provence because of being a Remy myself.  And while that town was utterly charming, it was more crowded and less fun than the other parts of Provence that I visited.  Some things I learned from this experience:

-local Visitor’s Bureaus are invaluable resources for finding lodging at the last minute

-much of Provence is not in guidebooks and can’t be found through a Google search

-the locals were eager to make suggestions for excellent eating, and they were more than willing to go out of their way to make sure that we didn’t get lost in our search for food and lodging

-though at times the roundabouts were confusing, most every road was well signposted for finding one’s way

-when you get up one morning with the intention of ‘driving to the next village’ for coffee and you just start driving in whatever random direction seems interesting, it might be a very long time before you find coffee.  But when you do, it will be at the perfect little family-run cafe with pain chocolate and a hot dark brew.

More than anything, I learned to release my need to know everything ahead of time.  I let myself just be where I was, even if that included being a wee bit hungry when a restaurant wasn’t just around the corner.  I not only found beautiful medieval towns, waterways, rock formations, and tasty olives-wine-lavender-cheese, but I also found huge comfort in learning to do things a new way, and to even enjoyed it more than how I’ve traveled in the past.

I used to be far more afraid of an uncertain future.  But I’m not (so much) now…

unthinkably good things can happen…

On the last day of my trip when I was feeling blue about having to return home, a ladybug landed on my arm. I held it in my hands for a bit, remembering all of the times that my kids and I had held critters and talked about them (we would sit for hours in the garden and experience whatever came our way, but ladybugs were always an especially fun find, part of why I’ve sometimes called Catgirl ‘ladybug’). A few times we even bought ladybugs and released them into our garden to eat the aphids on our roses.

Perhaps what I was thinking of most as that little critter crawled up and down my arm, was simply how random and beautiful life is. So many twists and turns have brought me to where I am now–some the result of long-sown seeds of intention and some the result of complete serendipity. But it seems that the most important thing is to continue to marvel at what life brings and to slow down a bit on those days that ladybugs (and butterflies and new friends) find me…Yes, it’s a bit cliche to say it that way, but sometimes when life gives you a cliche, you’ve got to embrace that, too  🙂

(Sort of like this clip from “Under the Tuscan Sun”….):

burning

Isn’t it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?
~Douglas Adams

IMG_5010Over and over again during my travels I found myself drawn into churches (this behavior undoubtedly abetted by the fact that France and Belgium are chock-full of churches).  I love the cool quiet spaces of sanctuaries–for meditation and for observation.

While at one famous church in Paris, I lit a candle for a friend and said a prayer for her.  Paying 2 euros for the candle before lighting and setting it on the stand felt a bit…cheap to me.  I didn’t want to think about money, only about my friend.  I suppose that’s why I tend to feel so conflicted about religion–somehow the practicalities of the organizations (money, structure, authority) tend to bog down what’s most beautiful about the devotion of the adherents.  Yet, as frustrated as I am with religion, I give homage to the beautiful spaces that are the remnants of such faith–the church structures that delight and lift my thoughts a bit higher.

Roll through my chant…

Thee in thy panoply, thy measured dual throbbing, and thy beat convulsive;
Thy black cylindric body, golden brass, and silvery steel;
Thy ponderous side-bars, parallel and connecting rods, gyrating, shuttling at thy sides;
Thy metrical, now swelling pant and roar—now tapering in the distance;
Thy great protruding head-light, fix’d in front;
Thy long, pale, floating vapor-pennants, tinged with delicate purple;
The dense and murky clouds out-belching from thy smoke-stack;
Thy knitted frame—thy springs and valves—the tremulous twinkle of thy wheels;
Thy train of cars behind, obedient, merrily-following,
Through gale or calm, now swift, now slack, yet steadily careering:
Type of the modern! emblem of motion and power! pulse of the continent!
For once, come serve the Muse, and merge in verse, even as here I see thee[…]

Fierce-throated beauty!
Roll through my chant, with all thy lawless music! thy swinging lamps at night;
Thy piercing, madly-whistled laughter! thy echoes, rumbling like an earthquake, rousing
all!
~from Walt Whitman, “To a Locomotive in Winter”

IMG_4952

One of the best parts of my trip was that I traveled (and traveled and traveled) by train. I took high-speed trains from Brussels to Avignon, from there to Paris, and also to London and back. I’ve said before that I try to make sure that every single journey I take includes a ride on a train, and this one certainly didn’t disappoint! Some of my train trips even included spontaneous cheese-bread-waffle picnics like this one:


(And because I fear that I’ve spoken far too much about my wine-bibbing on this trip already on my blog, the beverage in my glass will remain unmentioned…but were I to mention it, I might note just how strange it felt to be allowed to drink such stuff on public transport…)

And…as a further indulgence for my train fetish, I also had the opportunity to visit and photograph a few antique cars near an old railway-station-turned-coffeehouse. I’m rather embarrassed to admit just how much I enjoyed that part of my adventure…

At night…

One of my favorite aspects of being in Provence was walking around the old cities late at night, when lanterns threw such charming shadows on the old buildings.  Typically, I was more than a little warmed by local wine as we wandered up and around cobblestone streets, which certainly added a bit of magic to the experience.

This photo is a bit blurrier than most I snapped on those long walks, but I love how it captures the washed-out romance of the night.  Now, if only I could add the loud hum of cicadas and the smell of water splashing in corner fountains and the sight of a few kitties peering down at me from red tile rooftops and an orange crescent moon growing larger every night that I was there.  And maybe you can imagine me taking it all in, wide-eyed and smiling, hardly believing that I wasn’t simply dreaming such beauty.

a garden path (and a story of getting lost in Provence)

“A garden path,’ write the landscape architects Charles W. Moore, William J. Mitchell, and William Turnbull, ‘can become the thread of a plot, connecting moments and incidents into a narrative. The narrative structure might be a simple chain of events with a beginning, middle, and end. It might be embellished with diversions, digressions, and picaresque twists, be accompanied by parallel ways (subplots), or deceptively fork into blind alleys like the alternative scenarios explored in a detective novel.”
— Rebecca Solnit (Wanderlust: A History of Walking)

That first night in Provence was one that continually unfolded…

First, there was the dinner at the roadside restaurant that was reputed to have some ‘good’ food, but was one of the better meals that I’ve had, the food served in a back garden surrounded by roses, the wine coming from the next vineyard (from “right over there,” the waiter explained a gestured to the vines that were just beyond the terrace where we sat).

Then there was the nighttime wander around the old walled city of Mazan. In the dark it was so beautiful–every corner more charming than the one before. I snapped a few pics in the dark, knowing that I didn’t have the right lens for the dark lighting, but wanting to capture the mood, nonetheless.

Then there was the getting lost on the way back to the chambre d’hotes in the countryside. I learned that it’s a lot tougher to fine one’s way on narrow Provence ‘streets’ in the dark. That led to coming upon a small village fair in St. Didier–a place that I didn’t even know existed until losing my way and landing there. It looked as though all of the locals were out–teenagers gathered in dark corners, smoking, and older folks clapping their hands to the somewhat hoky musical performances on a small stage. There was cotton candy and carnival games. And no one seemed to notice the American stranger in their midst…

And, finally, there was A Cappella farm (after many detours and meanderings). I decided that even though the night was more than spent, I would still keep my plan to swim in the pool behind the house by starlight. It took forever to find my way down the stone garden steps in the dark (and I will confess to saying more than a few swear words as I stumbled along the path and hoped that no critters would jump out at me in the dark), but it was well worth the fear and trouble.

Because if one has the opportunity for a dip in the pool in the dark in Provence after a time of being lost and then being found, then one just has to take that chance when it comes–even if it’s a bit cold and dark and spidery along the pathway…

Last night in Europe…

I didn’t take my camera with me last night, the final night of my Europe trip.  I’d had a long day of snapping pictures and sightseeing in Bruges, and I needed a change.  I was also realizing how, sometimes, being behind the lens stops me from actually experiencing and feeling what’s happening around me.  So I left the camera at home, put on a fancy dress and stockings, and headed to a  gourmet restaurant for a few hours of food-gasm.

Everything tasted so good (artichokes, shrimp, Swiss beef…), the wine was smooth, the service impeccable.   I sopped every last drip of sauce with slices of fresh bread.  My face was flushed with much pleasure as I stepped out onto the breezy dark streets of Brussels, to join new friends at a local bar. They mostly asked me stories about my LDS upbringing–so curious about the Book of Mormon and ancient-modern prophets.  And I told them how, when I was Mormon I never could’ve imagined that someday I would have professional and personal opportunities that would bring me to foreign cities, or that I would even have a paycheck of my own. Back then I couldn’t have comprehended a night that would include so much pleasure, so much culture, so much living.

I got teary-eyed several times yesterday, mostly because I wasn’t yet ready to go home. But also because of the intensity of change…I lack the words to describe how I’m feeling.  Like now, having just arrived home and I’m here sitting in my living room and burying my face in the blue shawl that I wore throughout my trip…and am hoping that it will long retain the scent of last night.

Climbing the steps to Sacre Coeur

 

Jana Takes Europe 424, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

A favorite memory from my Europe travels: arriving in Paris in the early evening and then wandering Montmarte, climbing every single step to the top of the hill & then being overwhelmed at just how beautiful the city looked from up above. Then, walking the canals until settling on a small cafe for a traditional French meal. And much later, walking back to the hotel and realizing how tempting it was to stay up all night, my only night in Paris on this trip.
I know it’s sappy and romantic to have such huge affection for Paris…but every time I’m there, I simply can’t help myself…

by leaving our safety net…

Oh, I love this article and the connections it draws between lust and wanderlust. I’ve done a bit of that myself, these past few months, so I can relate to Eaves’ stories–there’s something so fresh with potential when meeting someone new while traveling…

Written on five small sheets of yellow notepaper, the letter read in part: “By leaving our safety net, we have thrown our souls upon the wind, exposing ourselves to all of the fears and dangers that we sought to protect each other from, and in doing so, we have made ourselves available to experience things that … border on the magical.”