How the City Became the Illusion and Nature Became the Reality, Part 2

December 2010

A cold winter night in the 5-story Lille house. I'm trying to sleep. In the morning, I'm taking the train to Paris. From there, I fly to Athens. Greece, the land of riots and possibly the end of civilization. All I know is, it must be less cold than the air in here.

I'm trying to sleep. It must be 3 a.m. But above me, there is clanging. There is stomping on the old creaky floor. My housemate is packing to go stay with a woman he doesn't know but thinks he loves, in some snowy remote corner of Western France. I can't stand it. I want to get up and shout, to bang on his door and tell him to stop being an asshole.

But I stay put in my bed, quietly seething. I'm trying to sleep. From somewhere in the distance, I hear music. Cocteau Twins? Elisabeth Fraser, 'the voice of God?' Do I have my music on? I get up and follow the sound. It gets closer. Light slowly filters through the room. I walk through my door into the light.

I seem to pass through the door directly onto the tree in the garden. The big, beautiful live-giving tree. The one in the eastern corner of the impossibly high garden wall. The wall that keeps out everything but birds and cats. How did I get so high up in this tree, sitting with my legs swinging down from this huge branch? It must be summertime. I'm wearing my red dress.

Something compels me to turn my head slowly to the west. It seems that my room has been transplanted outside to the garden. There is my bed, right in the same corner that it should be. Only it's not a bed. It seems that my bed has fallen through a hole of its same size and shape in the ground, leaving what looks like a grave.

I never climb down from the tree, and I can't feel the ground but I am approaching the bed. I'm so close. Almost there. It's right before me, ready for me to lay down to sleep again. Suddenly, an intense, split-second spasm of dread goes through my body, up to my brain. And then my body is no longer my own. After dread and fear comes total liberation. In my red dress, I can almost see myself as I am stretched out and lifted from the grass. Suspended in the air, hovering next to the bed in the ground, I feel for the first time what it must mean to be free.

From answering the call of the music, to floating in the garden, the whole thing lasts no more than 15 seconds.

And then I wake up.

What happened? Where did I go? I go back to sleep and in the morning, I am still the same.

Or am I?

Summer 2011

Greece had struck such a chord from the first visit, even though most of what I saw was the sprawling Athens metropolis. I sat on four hilltops and from way up high, I saw a city sprouting like a concrete forest. When the ancient Greeks looked down from these hilltops, what did they see?

There is more to Greece than this. I knew I wanted to go there for my first WWOOF stay, three weeks of Greek mountain magic.

Seeds. Oak trees. The Rhodope Mountains. An old woman on the porch. A dog following me on my bike ride through the woods. A tiny monastery. Coffee shop conversations. An ancient Christian ceremony of dancing barefoot on coals. A bike group riding from London to Palestine.

This was my first extended stay in a small town and natural place. Sandwiched between two short stops in the northern, second-largest city Thessaloniki. Bursting with revolution, people camping out at the harbor, a several story squat on the main street near the train station, an anarchist free school.

Going from the endless mountain expanse to the city feels like being trapped back under a snow globe. Someone is shaking us to make us move. We are not in control, it moves whether we want to or not.

But during a Saturday morning service at the monastery, the dream came back. Only I wasn't sleeping. The flash light as I stood with the sun streaming through the windows told me that the East, Korea was where I had to go next. There would be something awaiting me there, if I only answered the call.

And so I did.

Houston, August 2011 - February 2012

Worn out from travel and needing a space and a job before Korea, I put myself squarely back under the snow globe. The longer I stayed there, the less certain I became of the future. Would I stay here and engage with the radical community, living collectively, gardening, cycling, never being cold?

I worked a crappy job. I struggled with family relationships. I strugged with other interpersonal relationships. I developed new friendships. I read books. I had long bike rides. I danced to live music. I learned to appreciate Houston.

Korea, February 2012 - Present

I came to Korea because I wanted to explore Eastern culture and find inner peace. WWOOF Korea, living in the mountains, Jeju Island, meditation and most importantly, the people I've met every step of the way have put me back on a path that is no longer so easily reversible.

Suspended in the air, hovering next to the bed in the ground, I feel for the first time what it must mean to be free.

A New Awakening

I would like to take this time to write a burning, positive message from the present and from the depths of my soul.

In June of this year, I stood in a tiny Northern Greek monastery secluded in the mountains. It was probably early on a Sunday morning, the warm sun had just risen and we could see and feel it through the high windows as we listened to the soft hymns. Suddenly, I felt something that could only be described as a lightning bolt, a moment of revelation. I am a willing atheist, yet I refuse to deny this power. Perhaps it was a follow-up to the dream from the night before Athens, almost a year ago now (!) where I felt an incredible sense of liberation, literally floating in the air above the garden with a bed in the ground. Freedom, lightness, clarity and warmth are definitely accurate ways to describe this moment. I saw a real & bright future in Asia, teaching, learning more languages, going to graduate school for linguistics, falling in real romantic love with another person after learning to love myself. And yet, nowhere in this vision was there a lack of hardship, a complete erasure of uncertainty or an effortless, paved path to walk. It was simply an impression of an end result presented to me, that elusive magic that I never stop chasing. Magic within a concrete reality, not the one-dimensional world in my head with me as the eternal puppet master. A world based on my acceptance and optimal use of my strengths. A world where imperfect humans coexist and thrive alongside me, where I don't drive them away. A world that is mine for the taking if I will only accept it.

Today, my brother's 12th birthday, nearing the end of 2011, the stars are aligning to bring me back to this magic. One crucial thing came out of my recent therapy sessions: I discovered my Myers-Briggs personality type - INFP (Introverted. INtuition. Feeling. Perception.) For many years, I have heard about the importance of this "personality test" for those of us in the Western world to understand ourselves. Not just a surface examination of our personalities, but an affirmation of our natural tendencies and how to harness them in the best direction. For all my short yet substantial life, it seems I have been frantically searching for an explanation for my strangeness, for someone or something to tell me what is "wrong" with me. I inhabit the same space as my family & friends, so why the hell do I feel different? For the first time, I have stumbled upon something that helps tremendously. Apparently, INFPs in our population are seriously rare. I link again to the INFP blog because after this, it has been an astounding treasure to dig up. Here is a 40-year old, married-with-children American male who writes about his long-overdue "success" at "being an INFP" after years and years of wandering around lost. Hopefully, by starting now, I can begin to approach my magic point while I am still young.

 

Just this instant, I typed "Myers-Briggs France" into Google and stumbled upon an INTJ forum with this telling post:

A friend of mine who got her Masters in Psychology (and is a Korean native) told me that 75% of Korea is introverted. So ENTPs for instance are one of the rarest types there while INTJs were much more common (I think 6%), interestingly she also mentioned that ISTJs were by far the largest group, which had more than all the NTs combined.

She also said MBTI was taken more seriously there and they started making the tests mandatory by high school. 

                                                                                Things are coming together now in a big way. I went to the Houston Korean Education Center today and they gave me a *free* beginner's Korean language book. Hell, fuck the French. :P

The next step is again and again repainting every day, every important moment of my past in the most positive light possible to keep me moving forward. Truly, reconciling my past with this discovery is the first step. The second step is consciously living the change that is in my hands.

May, June 2011 - Three Weeks of Greek Mountain Magic

At long last, I have found the courage to gather together my best photos from WWOOFing at Peliti. As I look back on them now, I definitely feel the magic in full force. I can also see things more clearly from distance and time and of course there's quite a bit of sadness. But also the realization that I was pretty self-centered and childish, even during this time. I like to think that I learned about love, generosity, patience and humility during these three weeks through the actions of others. I hope that my mistakes and inconsiderate behavior were not judged so harshly by the wonderful people I met, as I now judge them myself. In any case, I can still say this was (one of) the best experiences of my life, with awe-inspiring natural surroundings, spirituality, delicious food, truly great human beings, dogs, seeds, quiet village life. So so much.

May 16, 2011 I arrived in Mesohori, a tiny Northeastern Greek village in the Rhodope Mountains. 

Of course, it was not quite a smooth arrival, knowing me. I took a 3.5 train ride from Thessaloniki, somehow managed to not get off at the Paranesti station and ride all the way to Xanthi, the end of the train line. I managed to leave a message on my host's telephone and he did pick me up in the evening. I must have been quite busy and awestruck the first day or two, because I didn't start writing immediately. From my first journal entry: 

May 18, 2011
I'm afraid that I will leave this place before I am able to grasp the entire, immense beauty of it all. Today, we planted "Peliti," the Ponti dialect word for "oak tree." Just a few small pots with tiny oaks will grow to become gigantic trees over years and years. Amazing.

Today, we also got the bike going and I am determined to go as far as the thermal springs if I am allowed. 

I am starting to fill up my body with nutrients again - spinach and local rice, salad greens and raw milk. Honey and fruit and walnuts. I am eating just enough to keep me full - maybe I will actually trim down a bit after 3 weeks. 

There is no other time in my life when I will have the chance to live next to old Greek women with whom I can only communicate with short words and gestures.

May 2011 Paris-Sofia Bus Ride

Paris. 8 a.m. Monday, May 9, 2011. I board an all-Bulgarian Eurolines bus, heading for Sofia. We are scheduled to arrive around 8:00 p.m. the next day. Expanded notes from my journal scribbles.

I can't believe how much and yet how little, time has gone by since my last trek out East. How much has happened, how much I've learned, how much is yet to come! This bus ride to Sofia is a kind of necessary purgatory, a time for overdue reflection, to find out what really hurts, what can be let go of, what can remain in place and what needs improving. In 7 months, I have learned to live deeply, fully, listening more and more to my body, my mind and my heart. The "promise" of Greece has begun to bloom in a real way now as I go back in that direction and know and am becoming increasingly aware of my life's potential and limitations. Perhaps the return to Athens will hurt, perhaps the veil will be lifted. Perhaps it will be even more magical than before. Note: I never did go back to Athens, bypassed completely "The Battle of Syntagma Square" and all the memories. Got carried away with Northern Greece. It is frightening and also liberating to travel alone, relying on the kindness of strangers, accepting that you won't connect with everyone, that you can't do everything right but that when it's right, it's really right. Opening yourself to the possibility of mistakes, even big ones, in the name of learning, growing, pushing forward. Realizing that even those who seem put together crumble, fall, tear to pieces from time to time. Talk less, listen more. Know when each has its place. Judge less, both yourself and others.

March 2011 - Mint Tea Memories and Souvlaki Imaginings

Marrakech Market

It is now the end of March. My last day of work is April 15. On May 16, I am supposed to start a 3-week long WWOOFing stint in Northern Greece. Afterwards, I would like to WWOOF in Bulgaria until the end of June, at which point I would like to come back to France for a Lille to Paris bike ride, culminating in the beginning of July. Then, the idea is to fly through Iceland to Boston and figure out what to do next in my life.

Essaouira Sunset

    So yes, it's a whirlwind. Morocco was quite the  

    adventure. I traveled with my friend Kristin, a 

    fellow American assistant and she made a good 

    companion, which was important. We got back on        March 3 after 10 days, but it seems like forever ago      now. It was a wonderful trip - what makes a place 

    great is the people and the Moroccans we met are 

    some of the most open, friendly and hospitable 

    folks around. In short, a welcome change from the 

    somewhat reserved coldness of France, though I 

    don't want to down the great people I've been 

    fortunate to get to know in Lille.

We passed through dreary, chilly Paris on Sunday, February 20. We saw the Pompidou Center, ate some delicious falafel (in preparation for Morocco, I guess) and generally got overwhelmed by the constant craziness of this city which I personally can't take for much more than a few days. We spent the night in a charming, family-owned inn in Beauvais, near the tiny airport. We were met at the train station by the family and we really enjoyed the short stint in the country.

In retrospect, I would have hitchhiked or carpooled to Paris, saving a lot of money, if not as much time. I didn't think too hard about this at the time, though, and you have to make compromises/practical decisions when you are travelling in a pair.

Bright and early Monday morning, we rushed to finish our fresh bread breakfast and hurried into the van that drove us through the rain and fog to the tiny airport - resembles a train station. We crammed onto the RyanAir plane and settled in for a not-so-long flight. I talked to nobody, but Kristin sat next to a French-Moroccan woman and her little son, so they somewhat kept her company.

We landed in Marrakech before we knew it, happy to see sunshine and mountains. In France, the controllers barely glance at your passport, but they like to take their sweet time in Morocco so that coupled with exchanging money and waiting for my ridiculously huge backpack put us into the afternoon when we got out into the parking lot. We were met by Abdoul Bouasria, the short, gray and bespectacled father of my Moroccan friend in Lille  - quite the personality! He was our chauffeur for the duration of the Marrakech stint. I really enjoyed the ride from the airport to their house, complete with Arabic radio music, warm sun streaming through the windows and witnessing the insane Marrakech convergence of cars, bikes, motorcycles, pedestrians and everyone in between. This is a very modern city, with all the noise and pollution that one can imagine.

Our three days with the Bouasrias in Marrakech and the vicinity included highlights such as an unofficial tour through the Jewish Quarter, a hike in the High Atlas mountains, a traditional women-only hammam and clandestinely hanging out with 18-year-old Ali and his friends. I say clandestinely because the parents like to keep a tight lid on their son, so he can successfully finish high school and go to university in France. They don't entirely succeed in this aspect, but the dynamic still persists. Personally, despite the delicious food, comfortable bed, free chauffeur and tour guide services, towards the end I felt sort of stifled by these two retired science professors and looked forward to escaping to Essaouira, the blue-tinged Western port.

And escape we did - on a Moroccan, read: non-tourist bus with no AC and random stops on the roadside, on a hot late afternoon. Essaouira is cooler and more relaxed, though certainly not free of hassle by the locals getting in our faces. In fact, we were pursued more doggedly here because we were
no longer accompanied by a Moroccan male so we really faced the gauntlet of men, boys and women trying to sell us everything from housing to cakes to restaurants. Two white females traveling alone - not so much an outright risk as an open invitation to harassment. However, I enjoyed the freedom of
planning our own schedule, which we were sort of deprived of in Marrakech. We stayed two nights in a hidden hostel, a renovated riyadh. The guard who works there is an extremely sketchy-looking Moroccan man, who speaks nothing but Arabic (possibly Berber?) but who was also very sweet and hospitable. I felt bad, as he seemed to be picked up off the street to spend his time roaming around this place and sleeping on a couch. The hostel was halfway empty for some reason, though it was dirt cheap for pretty good accommodation. We were able to spend one full day and two nights exploring Essaouira, taking in a gorgeous sunset over the sea, not-too-hot weather and authentic Argan products from a women's cooperative in the area.

I didn't like fending off the horribly disrespectful men, especially the one who got in my face with selling his cookies and telling me to go back to France, while I was taking pictures of the clear sunset with the seagulls. Kristin didn't believe that I experienced - maybe I was looking extra feminine, with my dress.
 
We left the coast early Saturday morning, spending an entire day in transit. We went back to Marrakech on a tourist bus and from there hopped a train up north to the imperial city of Meknès. After much needless worrying, we were met by Jamel, his friend Adel and Adel's Couchsurfer Christina, another American. We spent a wonderful two nights with these two guys, staying with Jamel's family and being further impressed by Moroccan hospitality. Meknès' medina is maybe not as interesting as Marrakech's but it has plenty of other things to offer. Our first night, we went out with the guys and tried Meknès wine, all while being thoroughly hypnotized by live Berber music. The drumbeats, droning guitar-like sounds and wailing female vocals will never leave my mind. The second night, we smoked quite a bit of chicha at a café and enjoyed existential rants with the guys, while laughing at Lebanese pop videos and saying goodbye to Christina, who left for the desert that very night.

Monday afternoon, we again felt sad to leave but very much looking forward to Fès, only an hour away by train and I believe the crowning achievement of our trip. Northern Morocco is lush, the opposite of the Southern desert, and hills and mountains surround this beautiful imperial city, truly a jewel of this country from what I can tell. We were hosted last minute by Said, whom we only saw at the end of our first evening. We spent the day getting thoroughly lost and frustrated near the medina, searching for and finally finding the Jewish quarter, with its huge cemetery looking over the mountains. I enjoyed walking through it at sunset, with the shining colors lighting up the white tombs and blue doors. We didn't like being ripped off by the cemetery guard, though. What can I say about Fès? Well, just look at the photos. A fascinating, mazelike medina and again, wonderful people. We spent some time with the Polish girlfriend of Said's cousin, who is studying in Spain. A truly multicultural encounter.

Said was kind enough to call his cousin in Tangier, where we spent our last night in Morocco. We were very proud of our ability to hail down a "grand taxi" to the airport the next morning. And just like that, in no time at all, we were back in Paris. Of course, we still had to wait for an hour-long train up north to Lille. As I say, this all seems like ages go. Yet writing about it now brings it back, in all its colorful, mint-tea flavored glory.

If I were to regret something, it would be to not have met anyone involved in the social movement in Morocco, specifically the February 20 uprising. The king came to Marrakech and he was welcomed with essentially a parade in the streets, but that's not the whole picture. There is still burgeoning discontent in this least revolutionary of the Northern African countries and it can't be buried. It is a crime to speak out against the king in public, there's no real social security and women with no jobs have virtually zero protection if they are abandoned by their men, so they end up in the streets - often with their kids. I also liked meeting Adil and Jamel's friend Nabil, an older, soft-spoken, dapper, Western/English-style gentlemen wearing a hat and sports jacket. 

Back in Lille, I have just three weeks left of teaching. I've realized now, towards the end, that I really love my kids. Not that they don't make a mess in my classroom on a regular basis - they sure do. Not because I think I've helped them improve their English - I'm not so sure about that. I guess it's the way their crazy energy and excitement to see me can light up my day, and how their innocence is so outside of the world I inhabit. No doubt about it, I learn as much if not more from them than they do from me and frequently, I wish I could drop the authority figure role and just hang out with them. It's hilarious how the same 15-year old kids who literally get up and walk around my classroom, throwing pens and paper and shouting, still walk up to me and make me laugh outside of class. And I'll never forget Nina, the girl adopted from central Africa who enjoys speaking to me in her brilliant English and who seems to appreciate my presence the most.

The makeshift Food Not Bombs Lille project is on a roll, with Thursday afternoons and evenings dedicated to open-air market leftovers, bread pickup, organic and supermarket chain dumpster diving. Friday is usually cooking day and late Saturday morning/afternoon I find myself in a lively group of five to seven folks, traipsing through the city on foot and on bike, with loads of soup and bread to distribute to people we find in the street. The idea seems to be taken up by other French acquaintances, with added talks of a new squat that might host a "cantine populaire" and perhaps joining forces with an alternative cafe to hold a meal outside its door. All in all, I'm extremely pleased with the progress we've made, which started with an innocent chat over a beer with my friend Marine. I've learned of many other social justice projects here and I continue to go out and get to know as many people as possible. Building a network and integrating oneself into a community is not the easiest thing in the world, but when I think that I've only spent five months total in Lille - with vacation cutting down the time - I can't help but feel like I'm jumping forward in leaps and bounds. 

I've learned SO much, from my housemates, environmentalists, anarchists, feminists, musicians, teachers, students - everybody I've met. I would very much like to come back to Lille this fall, but I haven't been able to find a guaranteed way to do so. I'm looking into a Master's in Linguistics at the local public university, but I'm not sure whether I'll be able to fill out all the dossier requirements on time. It seems that the most I can do is to aggressively pursue assistant renewal, which is definitely not guaranteed. I am trying to keep my head up and look at other possibilities, such as teaching English in Asia, with the view of maybe coming back here next year at the very worst. I figure that everything must happen for a reason and if it works out to stay here, great. If not, something just as wonderful will find its way into my life.

Speaking of wonderful things, I am super looking forward to Greece and Bulgaria this summer. I honestly think it will be a lovely experience for me, which will hopefully push me further in my agricultural/food justice work. I'm sorry to say that I haven't taken out my video camera at all this whole time, though I've collected many still photos. Marine reminded me of this recently and so I say, now is the time. Starting this week, I will start filming the life around me, as I see it. We had absolutely incredible spring weather here this week and I spent some magical moments sleeping and digging in my big garden. Working in the earth is one of the beautiful tangible joys of life and I intend to continue with it for the rest of mine.

 

Holidays 2010 - Four Hilltops and a Spanish New Year

From December 17 - January 1, I traveled to Greece and Spain. I reconnected with and met some amazing folks, saw and learned so many more things than I could possible express in one email. I've tried to express it out loud and it also doesn't seem to work. Suffice it to say, I had no real expectations for this trip and it really went above and beyond what I thought possible.

I was really lucky because I happened to come to Athens the day after two consecutive general strikes which grounded flights. I also missed the heavy blizzards that messed up travel plans in other parts of Europe, especially France. 

Originally, I wasn't sure how long I would stay in Athens and I was thinking of going to Thessaloniki. In the end, however, I stayed because I had so much more to discover and I was incredibly fortunate to have the opportunity to spend Christmas with a Greek family. I ate delicious food, including (vegetarian) souvlaki, chickpeas, homemade Crete salad, cheese pie, etc. I really enjoyed hearing the Greek language for the first time and it may sound crazy but I hope to continue learning! 

Unfortunately, Greece is going through a really hard time, as you all have probably gathered from the news. People, especially those my age, aren't happy to live there because a lot of them feel they have invested time and money into their work and/or education and there's nothing to show 

for it because the job situation is so bad. They want to work and live abroad, also difficult to achieve because that requires money and then they have to leave their families. The austerity measures continue to wreak havoc on ordinary people's salaries and work prospects. That's just one of the many 

things I learned. Of course, none of this stops the Greeks I met from being warm, friendly and fun-loving people - even in Athens, a sprawling metropolis. There is a lot of discontent in daily life, though, and it definitely manifests itself in violent uprisings. I didn't see this in real life, but I saw after effects. The city is covered in political graffitti, more so than I've seen in many other places. There was another general strike and I did go to a demonstration in front of Parliament with someone I CouchSurfed with, but it was not a large gathering. For me, it's just another sign of the failure of the structure of capitalism and modern society, and sadly, it really hurts such a beautiful people and country.

Anyway, my most vivid memories of Athens include stray dogs and cats everywhere, views of the city from four hilltops, long nights out on the town, riding on a motorcycle for the first time, and the beautiful weather...yeah, thanks global warming! :/ ;)

Sort of last minute before the trip, I decided to spend the week after Christmas, including New Year's Eve, at home with my Spanish assistant friend from Lille. Her family lives in Vigo, Galicia, a big port city near the northern Portugeuse border. Before we got there, though, we spent a couple days in the magical middle-of-nowhere Spanish countryside. Her grandmother lives in a village with 400 inhabitants. My first day in Spain went like this: I slept from 5 to 6:30 in the morning in Athens because we stayed out late, I rushed to the airport, boarded a 9 a.m. flight to Madrid, got to Madrid at noon, scrambled to find a bus to Salamanca, found an Australian high schooler who took the bus with me, got to Salamanca around 5:30 p.m., saw some of Salamanca, drove down pitchblack country roads to the village and went out stargazing! The stars are totally clear there, that was really a treat :)

Spain is not doing that much better than Greece, honestly, and on the drive from the central West Spain to Galicia, I got an earful about the Spanish Civil War and a bunch of other history that was super powerful and interesting, from my friend's father. I also saw landscapes unlike any other and I didn't catch them on camera, but they're stuck in my mind. I actually saw more different regions and towns in Spain than Greece, so it was slightly more overwhelming because it was all in one week. I feel extremely fortunate to have gotten this tour and I feel that I got somewhat more comfortable with Spanish! 

New Year's Eve consisted of dinner with the whole family in Vigo, complete with 12 grapes at midnight, watching homemade fireworks and club-hopping until 6 in the morning. I finished by dancing madly to "Common People," which seems to me a really positive start to 2011 :)

I flew back to Lille from Porto on the 1st and by that time, I just couldn't handle Portugeuse, a third language...

Back in Lille, I'm back to work and seeing friends. I already feel better about teaching and making plans for this year. I definitely want to try to renew my contract, but before then, I am committed to WWOOFING, working on an organic farm, this summer. Perhaps Greece so I can continue with Greek! In any case, my main goal this year is to be open to the same level of magic that I got during this 15-day trip and look at everything as a positive opportunity. Whether in France, Spain, Greece, the States, Asia, or wherever, good things can and will happen!