PS I have a nephew!

I leave the wonderful comforts of Normandy today, and went for a nice early morning stroll to breath the fresh country air before I depart. The fog was lifting off the ground, the sun coming in, the frost on the apples shimmering like decorations and the swallows doing their loops and figure 8's, and I will miss it here.
I have been completely spoiled here, my senses satisfied in ways only the French country side can deliver. Hence, it has been complete in its perfection, a perfect amount of time and balance of weather, of quiet time, forest walks and then social events. I leave in gratitude and pleasure, knowing I have shared with Le Perche all the glorious exchanges of the season and enjoyed all her earthly delights..

Bretagne

I havent been able to write much this week! Its as I am without a computer here in Britany but as it turns out I find one tucked away in one of the many rooms of this rambling old house and I have snuck in for a little blog-sesh! I am here with an old French friend of my fathers, Marie-Christine, her side of their history I am hearing bit by bit along the way, like today, eating crepes by the sea with cider, before a long walk around the coast. Tales of their youth and India and Ex en Provence in the 70's when they were all young and free. It turns out to be a complete coincidence that they are here, not 3 hours away from Lynne's in Normandy, and perfectly timed as I wanted to give Lynne some space this week. I go back for the weekend for an annual farm-party, trying to steer clear of the fromage to wear the new dress. I had not expected to turn up in paradise and to be honest i do not know anything about this corner of the world, but a short train ride later and a little drive to the sea and I'm here, in a cosy big family home in a well to do holiday area. By well to do, its the Parisians that I recognise here as the same type who, in their holiday gear, gallavant around the countryside. Its very Palm Beach crowd actually, the sea-side style of stripes and straw and sandshoes is universal, or perhaps it originates here. None the less, I am surrounded by very stable old stone homes which dot a green and calm sea-side, rose bushes and the berry bush adorn the coast along with acorn trees and pine. The sea gives me no gust of salty air and the water smooth and lakey, unlike our oceans at home. The horizon is flat and dosent jiggle around uneven and choppy, and the sand is well behaved, if not sand then soft and granite coloured stones. Big skies and a temperate climate, all very agreeable and easy. Stony islands with isolated watch-towers and coast-side towns still very much boasting all the European refinement they do so well, these coasts are much more tame than mine! We have just watched an amazing flourescent sky descend behind the town and sillhouette the trees to that black shaddow known so well by the Romantic painters. It has been wonderful to re-connect with another lady-from-the-past and gather peices of myself as a child from her, details of my and dad's trip here in '98, and to get another perspetive on France and her people. We spent yesterday laying in the garden catching up, peeling hundreds of apples and sucking on fresh-picked figs, ready for a crumble. Anna, MC's daughter is bubbly and generous company and in between her juggling her three sandy and handsome children I gather more of their tale in the life of dad, and of their tale between here and Australia and a few of the pieces in between. Its been a lovely sea-side holiday of cooking and playing with children and walking coast-side! And I have just been called for dinner of local seafood so I must be off. We all wait in anticipation for news of my new neice/nephew and by the time I write again we will know!!

Today, We did get out of the house despite the rain. The weather put a moist and dark mood on the landscape and we just returned from a between-shower stroll through paths, winding between fatcow farm plots, blackberry strewn and droplet sharing acorn trees. Strolling through the graveyard, a heavy sky above, and a dusk silence so deep that when the church bell struck 9 we jumped in our boots.

Visited a charming old retiree couple in their restored French home today, and their visiting children. Drank wine fire-side with the windows streaming rain and discussed Indian politics and the way of the future, then ate a full and varied meal accompanied by wine and cheese and bread and then fruit salad and ice cream and then coffee and then sweets and then a stroll around the house, full bellied! This place has made me consistently full-bellied! Not surprised if i leave twice the size, despite walking each day, how can I refuse all this wonderful fresh produce and crunchy local bread and melty cheeses?!

Oh, my.

Its happened. I dreamed endlessly of homely comfort in India, of having a kitchen of my own to prepare wholesome meals, to prepare tea at whim, to pull vegies from the ground and make a soup! And now i have been sucked into a beautifully scenic and comfortable vortex, my body completely forgetting that in fact, I am traveling and living from a bag, and no I am not at home.

Woke this morning in the light-drenched attic room and read European fables and folk stories for a few hours listening to a morning storm, thunder which rattles with an echo unlike storms of Australia. Lost deep in faerytales I pondered whether i need get up at all? Oh, to get up and prepare fresh figs and raspberries for breakfast while watching the town and reading the news? To have a day spread ahead of me with a few options of Rest, to Write or Draw, to Read, Walk, Stroll, or perhaps spend more time in the kitchen, cooking the produce that appears in a constant stream from friends and gardens, (we now have a whole new over-sized zuchini to deal with). The living space is a cycle of cook, clean, cook, clean, rest, cook, eat, play music, eat, tea, rest, chat away.

I think I have to get on the road so as to not get too cosy here!!

Never Leaving

Last night we visited a friend a few towns away and drove in the dusky landscape visiting locals Manoirs and Chateaus. The evening light played softly on the landscape of sunflower crops and corn fields, meandering around townships and orchards. Tree-lined roads lead up to remarkable properties in their vintage splendeur of tall stone barns and castles and pigeon-houses tucked behind over-growth. Roses and creeping vines, turrets with slate tiles slipping to balance precariously on the edge of now and hundreds of years ago. These are the places of Wuthering Heights and Lady Chatterly's Lover! Lands of great fables and stories! Rich in deep history and landscape. The small windows of the turrets are so Repunzelesque I prayed princesses still lived in them, pining over lost lovers.

Its not really the fancy Chateau that you can imagine with tidy,manicured gardens, its the ones tucked away and hugged by forests that invoke the romantic and literary in an on-looker. Held together by vine and the tender-hands of peasants for countless years, the shadows in between garden and building stir the imagination! Exploring these lands the past few days in varying times of the day, and eating produce from the local soil has given me the gift of feeling the place and its essence.

A few days ago we wandered with an animated sculptor friend in another town-not-so-far-away, through a misty afternoon after a feast of cheeses and cabbage-from-the-garden salad. We stood looking into a green river rushing down into dark willow-shaded corners of the landscape on an old stone bridge. The river recalled a painting by Millais, Ophelia, adding to the cultural language of the landscape.

An enclosed statue of Mary sat protecting the bridge and perhaps the river also, and as we watched the drizzle make planets on the water surface the ladies discussed the pagan activity still active in the area. Little did I know, but probably have known and forgotten, that the french countryside and in that dark soil, runs a deep histoire of pagan tradition. Witchcraft and Druid sights scatter around water-sources and stone. Churches placed directly on-top of sacred spots of ceremony or significance. This conversation added to the garden of charm and enchantment already growing in the predictably romantic-leaning soil of my imaginings.

So last night, sharing our Zuchinni dishes (which we ate with some bread we picked up from a local organic bread-making farm, yum!) in the recently acquired prespitary home-to-be of another expat friend and her full-bellied, garden-handed French boyfriend, I got to see the transformation occurring of an old building and its gardens. Glimpses of what-was, the stone work and charred back-walls of fireplaces. The evidence of many lives. The high garden walls and gnarled trees. After the meal and trying to pick up on some french conversation, ( the soup was delicious!) I wandered the grounds with the evening light softening the grasses and poplars, and walked down to the rivers-edge, soaking up the sweet scents of freshly-turned soil and flowers on the air. My daily meditation, which I did earlier while the others discussed kitchen arrangements, was filled with these scents, and the warm and chirpy atmosphere of sparrow play. Such comfort from elements is something Zana and I dreamed of in India where these harmonies were disappearing rapidly from life and tradition. What a relief to feel what is important. Thankyou India!

Ps.

Just went for a walk in the woods. I anticipated bumping into a hedgehog, a badger or a farmer. No-one crossed my path! The sparrows played up ahead, darting through blackberry bushes and saplings. Crickets rustled in the dandilion. And then, as i was emerging from the edge of the woods, a clearing on a road near a Chateau, which made me wonder what kind of things this back track has been used for over the centuries, I spotted a beautiful male spotted deer standing in a beam of sunlight against a gnarled old fallen tree. We held gazes for a while as he looked like a vision. Then he wandered over and showed me his lady and baby standing nose-to-nose in the shade. A splendid sight!

La Perriere

Am now in wonderful La Perrier where I have spent the week in the cosy restored home of Lynne, an old friend of my mothers. A wonderful, huge and spacious kitchen full of wholesome foods and fresh produce, we have just spent the day cooking the over-sized zuchini some local friends have given her. It now is in the form of crispy little lemony-cheesy fritters and a fragrant soup.

The last few days we have done walks into the forest and around the village; up to the local graveyard and steeple, around the old, stone townhouses stopping to say hi to the dog-walking locals. Everything is straight out of a classically quaint french country-style magazine.

Rose bushes grow fondly against stony walls and lavender adorns street sides. To add to the fragrant blossoming streets are the blackberry bushes with juicy gifts for our stomachs on a morning walk.

The landscape is so European to my Australian tastes. To wander around ancient apple groves and nibble from pear and berry trees is a total delight for my senses, especially the roses that are growing on every terrace and street corner. Im in awe of the unusual abundance of the land here and its centuries-old traditions, rich fertile soil and vintage hedge-rows.

Its been an incredibly sensual experience being here and eating amazing food, picking the fresh produce from gardens of friends, and given a beautiful attic room with long views over valleys and forests. Its also been surprisingly hectic for 4 days in the countryside. Lynne has kept me busy and entertained visiting the array of eccentric ex-pats living locally, mostly women. Single and fabulous, with full and flourishing gardens and generous lives they share with us. I have listened to stories of the local gossip, the grumpy mayor and his plans to pave through the garden-plot, the gaggle of gay boys wanting to take over the town, the posh and the posers, the old bats and the conservative farmer peasant folk. The ex-pats here are in a group of their own sharing their experiences and lives.

I arrived here thinking I would have lots of time to be sitting around sipping Vin Blanc and doing watercolours, but have been given the full tour of summer life in rural France. As well as a fantastic home-maker (the restoration of her place a wonderful transformation and project of vision) Lynne has also filled me in on detailed and rich tellings of life here and the many stories of relationships, proccesses and obstacles. We have sat around a cheese-board, a pot of tea, or a bowl of my own Biryani (recipe i picked up in India, which surprisingly worked quite well! ) and shared our reflections. Just like visiting a real aunt. I have been grateful to meet the women here, living and sustaining a well-being from their passions like gardens, friends, food and their art practice. Its a pleasure to see how people survive in another land and hear them share their tales of its people and the concessions and obstacles they have overcome.

We are on our way out to a friends place to share our zuchinni love!

Paris welcomes me and I embrace the new solitude for the weekend, visiting Modigliani and Chagal's women in the Galleries, and wandering the streets of Montmartre, remembering being there with my father in 1998, visiting to same cafe which happened to coincidently be next to my hotel, to drink hot chocolates and sketch old women and their dogs.

Montmartre, with its memories and cosy summer streets felt very much a place of my heart. I spent the weekend re-visiting myself after 7 weeks with a companion. Leaving Zana to be alone was both refreshing to be able to get on my own rhythm, and uncomfortable as the silence was new.

So much to say! Where do i throw my ideas out now? On whose ears can my observances land, to be handed back, re-considered and discussed? Who can I reminisce with, complain to and wake up next to?

I noticed when we were in India that I am much more of a meditative and contemplative traveler who enjoys to sit in cafes or parks, soaking up the atmosphere, watching the people, writing letters, sketching locals. Zana is a much more active traveler and we balanced each-other out in this way, bar some rare moments in the beginning where we struggled to find the middle way.

So, for me Paris was a chance to get back into my own groove. Much sketching and observing and watching, eating, sipping wine, letting the sun play with the streets and shadows, watching people play with their families and babies, pregnant women by fountain-side chatting with elderly locals. Paris in the summer! So different to when I was last here, in mid winter, both times. So charming winter is, only in Paris can even winter be charming with the desiduous trees and handsomely rugged up people. Summer brings joy to the streets and cafe life to a full and brimming pond of variety and colour. After the first night, which was awkward being alone and I went to sleep with unease and nerves, I woke with a sunny day and city to myself, and wandered in the charm of it until the evening which gave me the pleasure to meet a lovely gentleman and we ate snails and drank wine in a Montmartre bar under the full golden moon like real Parisiens. Lucky me! Paris offered herself to me unlike before and the weekend is mine!

Monday takes me to La Perrier, to visit an old friend of my mothers, Lynne, in the countryside of Normandy.

Alex Burke - Copenhagen

My port of entry into Europe was Berlin, where we stayed in the apartment of a friend of Zana's, my traveling partner through India. She had been living and studying in Berlin for a year and had slipped back to Australia leaving us the debris of her life there, and the lofty room she lived in, the bed that smelled of someone gone, and the comfort of having a washing machine, a kitchen and a space to ourselves.

A wonderful space to recover in! My post-India ailments did nothing to prevent me from registering Berlin's vibrancy and dynamism, the energy in the streets on the faces of its residents cycling below my window. My internal and physical being was in total re-construction mode, where I had to put myself together from the way India ripped at the layers of every level of my being and body. I left Berlin to Copenhagen knowing I would return.

Alex Burke and I met at the restaurant I worked at in Sydney for 3 years and we became partners in crime, attracted to her generous spirit, constant sense of humor, and love of wining and dining.
In Copenhagen she works for a Danish film distributor and lives in a cosy old apartment close to everything, full of girls who are drawn by her magnetism to share her bed, her floor and her couch. A little family of ladies in the 'West-end' all sharing space, patience, wine and days, revolving like planets with different axis', around Alex and her fay and vague line of living, her smooth and fluid lifestyle, which however disorganized it seems from the outside, somehow functions and survives in new countries, new jobs, demanding situations, and all sorts of social echalons. This ability is highly endearing and her method of survival creates an air of Mother-Hen-ism that offers the famous Burke-Hug and endless generosity. Copenhagen was a platter of ladies and friendly wine-bars, long mornings spent relaxing (well earned and needed after my Indian Adventures) and strolling the city, getting a little high off Christiania, Copenhagen's own Nimbin-style commune right in the centre of the city, watching the local talent of freaks and lovers and European men, laying lake-side. In full ease did we roll the week over in CPH with the west-end girls, and had the leisurely rhythm of home to get comfortable in ourselves again, recover to our full selves after the debilitating experience of Berlin previously, where I was out of action in recovery mode for the whole week. Thanks to Alex and her nest, I'm now off to Paris alone, and feeling fully returned to myself.