My Mecca

So today was the day I spent all day painting THE BRIDGE.  If you don't know, I'm in Mostar, Bosnia (county #5 for the summer).  This bridge is a reconstruction of the original bridge built in 1566.  That bridge fell into the water when it was bombed during the savage civil war that happened here in 1993-4.  It was built exactly the same, they even got the stone from the same quarry, but it's not the same, is it?  It's all shiny and new, not 400+ years old.  This bridge represents a connection between east (Muslim Mostar) and west (Christian Mostar).  There are again guys jumping off the apex for money, there are again hundreds of tourists daily that hold onto the railings while crossing the slippery, smooth stones. There are again lots of stalls selling exotic wares from Turkey and further east.  

Yet, there are still many many buildings that are riddled with bullet holes, roofs caved in, with signs saying "stay out".  I have walked past dozens of burned out shells of buildings that obviously had someone living in them until they got bombed.  

The first couple of days I was here, I could feel the sadness and anger in the atmosphere.  I didn't really want to go out into it, so I stayed in.  Then I decided, "Well, I'm here, this painting is the whole point of the trip, get out there and do it!"  

So, yesterday, I did a couple of studies, to get the angle right etc.   And today, since I'm leaving tomorrow, I brought a cushion, my paints, and not enough water to the riverside.  I let myself get distracted, I watched the jumpers and and jumpers in training,

 

I walked in the water (very cold), I talked to a couple of other tourists, I looked and looked for the just right angle, then there was nothing else to do but begin.  And before dark, I was finished.  

The angles aren't quite right and I could hear Julian (my teacher in Italy) saying, "I'm not convinced by the rocks yet." I kept fiddling, then I decided, stop! As I was walking to a restaurant, I stopped to admire another artist's work.  He asked me to show him my painting.  I did, although I was embarrassed.  He said, "You have to be proud, you're an artist!  I've painted 1000 pictures of that bridge, you're just beginning."  And I thanked him for reminding me.  

I'm relieved, really to have this finished.  Now, I can just play for the rest of my time here.  I will paint some more, I'm sure, as I've discovered I really enjoy it.  It's quieting and while I'm painting, my mind is peaceful and absorbed. 

While walking from my place to the bridge,  I've enjoyed looking at all the beautiful things for sale, pretty cheap here.  I've almost decided to buy a painted bowl.  I have all this money that I can't spend anywhere else!  

I only hesitate because pottery isn't the easiest to travel with, however, I tend to buy some everywhere I go...maybe a small pitcher.

Talk about east meets west, in one ear, there's this repetitive, strong beat, dance music.  In the other, there's a call to prayer from the mosque.  All this auditory stimulation is giving me a headache! 

So, tomorrow I'm headed to the beach for a few days.  I'll be staying in Brela, Croatia before making my way up the coast then inland to Zagreb, the capital of Croatia.  There, on August 2, I'll be picking up my mom, sister, and auntie Alice at the airport for a full week of travel and touring.  

I've just paid for dinner and I have some marks left...good thing I have to walk through the market to get home.  Time to head home and pack...I need to figure out where to pack a piece of pottery!

A (sort of) Croatian in Croatia

 After 3 lovely days with my Danish friend, Elizabeth, in Castagnetto Carducci on the coast of the Mediterranean, I'm now in Dubrovnik, Croatia.  I had a hard day of traveling yesterday - planes, trains, automobiles and even busses to arrive at this fairytale city at the golden hour.  

I got off the bus at the ancient gate through which world wide visitors have been pouring for centuries.  Immediately, a young woman came up to me and asked if I was looking for a room.  We negotiated a bit and I agreed to a room for the three nights I'll be here.  Simple, basic, expensive. She said there was wifi, there wasn't last night, but there is this morning.  She said it was a quiet room; it isn't, unless I shut the window (good thing there's a fan). She said the bathroom was private; it isn't, I share with the lady who lives here, who came into my room last night when I wasn't here. And woke me up this morning when she unlocked the door for some unknown reason. (She doesn't speak English either)

Quite a change from this: my beautiful room in the BnB in Castagnetto. Which included the beautiful breakfast and daily maid service.  

I can see just from this room that these folks have had some hard times, some might say Soviet times.  This room is perfectly functional.  It has all the basics.  Everything I need...and not one thing more.  They even took the sheet and pillow off the other bed after I picked which one I wanted to sleep on.  

While we were negotiating, she said it was in a good location, not a lot of stairs, near the church.  This is true...

This is my view...captivating, enchanting, the whole of the city walks right under my window.  Ok, can I just say, the sound of tourists on a bender in a city made of rocks just reverberates into any open window.  And, bars and clubs serving up loud music and cold beers stay open late here! So, it was not my most restful night of sleep last night.  I finally gave up this morning and shut the window when the church bells just went nuts around 7. 

Last night, after a dinner of "tuna pâté", mussels and fries, and wine, I went to a concert given by a nationally famous pianist, Andrea Padova.  It was given in a place called "Rector's Palace".  This building is a stone facade, of course, built around an open courtyard.  The steps, floors, wall, even the bannister holders are all stone.  I sat up in the loggia, on the wide stone benches between the columns.  It was magical watching and hearing such beautiful music waft up from the grand piano below.  When Dubrovnik was its own republic (middle ages -1880), this was the place where the mayor of the city, called the "rector" lived.  It was open to the public who came in and washed their clothes in the fountain in the courtyard and sat and gossiped.  (Picture of a picture)

This city was built on cash coming in from trade in salt, and other staples.  It rivaled Venice, and if it hadn't all been burned down in 1660's, it would look very much like Venice does today.  There's still a busy harbor, but today it's mostly trading in cruise ship parking and tourists going from the mainland to one island or another.  There's a LOT of tourists here.  I can see why.  It's a charming, car free city of white stone streets and buildings.  The locals all speak English very well and they charm you as you spend kuna after kuna.  5 kuna = $1, so something that's 100 kuna = $20. Easy math yet it sounds expensive when they tell you the price (and it is expensive- no eastern block pricing here).  

I got a bit choked up last night as I was walking down here with the girl who sold me this room.  She said this lady I'm renting from is her grandmother (I don't think she is).  Anyway,  I told her that I'm here because I remember my grandmother, Nana, telling me about this city and several others when she took a trip to Yugoslavia in the mid 70's. In fact, her stories about this place were the whole impetus for writing the grant in the first place.  I have always known that this region is someplace I've wanted to explore.  It's in my blood, this place.  People know how to pronounce my name here.  The couple of words I learned from a phrase book don't feel uncomfortable when I say them.  It feels comfortable.

Being here is literally a dream come true for me.  I'm going to go out and explore a bit more.  So far, I like what I see.  

Under the Umbian Sun

It's almost 8:00 on a sunny, fresh morning.  The stones are freshly washed by the rain, the birds are happily sounding in the woods and breakfast will be down shortly.  It's a good day here on the boarder between Umbria and Tuscany.  

It's day 4? 5? Of my 10 day art course here at this villa on top of a hill.  We've been panting, drawing, and taking photos between day trips to little hill towns where we visit churches and museums.  Yesterday we went to Cortona where we even had a little while to shop.  I didn't buy anything, but I was sure looking.  Later this week we'll go to Florence, a leather capital, where I will probably buy a bag to replace my lost one.  After all, I'm a traveling artist now, I need something in which to carry my supplies.  

We're 7 guests here at Julian's house. He's from Malta.  First Maltese person I've ever met.  Anyway, he and his English wife bought this place in 2006 and spent years renovating it and finally, now it's ready for guests.  It's a beautiful spot at the top of a hill, surrounded by trees, rolling fields of sunflowers and wheat and distant dark peaks.  Honey colored villages dot the nearby hilltops and occasionally I can hear a train speeding through the valley.  

Today we're to go out to paint in "plain air". Which means out in the open.  Of course, every time we go to a village, we bring our notebooks, in which to sketch or draw, but the weather threatens, or we'd  rather have a coffee or something.  So we don't really draw when we go out.  Julian's quite easy going, and a good teacher as well.  He has a gentle way of being able to critique without crushing someone's fragile artist soul.  He's got a knack for feeling out the needs of each student and pushing or encouraging. 

The student body are 3 from UK, 1 Aussie, 1 Kiwi, and 2 Yankees.  We range in age from 70 to late 20's. I'm getting quite a language lesson, to be sure.  Today, I learned "like a stick of rock"- which is a candy stick in England.  It means, something is in you to your bones.  i.e. a talent or belief.  "I'm an artist like a stick of rock."  

Around 8:30, 1:30 and 8:00 they provide for us the most fabulous meals, cooked in the typical Italian style of the beautiful fresh produce which is abundant here.  Wine flows freely around the table and we're always delighted to see whats on our plates.  Julian's sister in law had a restaurant in France until recently, and now she's cooking for us!! Aren't we lucky?  It's such a luxury to be served beautiful food, in an amazing place in good company. All I have to do is create art...

So, you can imagine my surprise when a couple of days ago I was in breakdown...full on Zarvos worthy breakdown.  I suddenly felt so sensitive and teary.  I don't know what brought it on, but I let myself experience my experience, kept away from the others and let the tears flow.  Bless Julian's heart, he asked, "Are you ok?  You seem a bit fragile?" I said yes while my cheeks were still wet. 

Anyway, I feel more settled today and did a couple of drawings this morning in the shade of the umbrella pines. I'm supposed to be painting now, but I needed a nap this afternoon, so I gave myself permission to just take a break.  (Yes, take a break from the grueling schedule of eating and painting-- believe me, I can hear how decadent this sounds!)

I'm ready to go back and join my class in the studio, so I'll say ciao for now.  

Random photos

Here's a couple of pics I wanted to share.

Serendipitous Day

Serendipitous day

July 4,2014. Happy birthday America

I started out the outer day headed for the Vatican.  As per usual in Roma, there were several unexpected events before I got there. 

First was this:  116 bus. Riding This little electric number was better than a ride at cedar point! The route for this was through the ancient center where there's barely room for a smart car, let alone a bus, but it handled it like a race car. (I have this theory that all Italians fancy themselves formula one drivers.) It whipped around tight corners, it jumped over bumps, it skidded into stops nearly sideways!  It was an exhilarating little start to the outing. 

I jumped onto another bus and when it turned the wrong way, I got out and found I was in front of this church.  

It was mouth dropping amazing on the inside yet on the outside, I had walked by it dozens of times with out even noticing it.  I wandered in wonder at the splendor of it.   The detail of the fresco on the ceiling was hard to make out, it was so high.  However, they had conveniently place a mirror so you could stare without getting a crook in your neck.  There happened to be a statue by Bernini in this church and a painting by Caravaggio.  Amazing. I would have never seen them if I hadn't happened to have gotten on a bus going the wrong way.  

Finally I got to the Vatican and was blown away again.  Of course.  The magnitude is hard to imagine or describe.  They have markers in the floor that indicate the size of other cathedrals around the world in relation to St. Pete's.   They are dwarfed, I tell you.  The little Cupid angel babies are bigger than a grown man.  The dozens of statues are 10 - 20 feet high and they too, are dwarfed in this cavernous space.   I liked looking at the stone mosaics in the floor. I could actually see those.  

When I came out, I thought, "I'm close to Gianicolo."  It's a park on the top of the hill.   I saw a road I thought I remembered and started up it, because I was just sure there was a bus stop right around a corner.  Well, there wasn't.  What I did is walk up the hill all along the outside of the wall of Rome.  I walked and walked and walked...I kept saying things like, "Surely around this curve, I'll be there," "Surely, there's another road here somewhere," "Surely, I've got to be near the top now!!" Then I said "Don't call me Shirley!" And, ultimately, I did get to the top and the 25 minute hard uphill march was worth it because I saw this:

It's the end of an aqueduct on top of this lovely hill.  It was near sunset and all of Roma was golden.  I sat there and watched the colors intensify and the sun set.  Apparently, it's the place to come for photos if you're just married in Rome because just while I was there, two different couples with drivers and photographers showed up here.   

Just as I decided to go down, a bus went by.  Well, there was nothing for it but to walk.  I went down the front of the hill this time and, fortunately, there were some stairs.  I took them and ended squarely in Tresteveri.  It's is a cool, artsy neighborhood over the river from the center.  I sat myself down and enjoyed a meal at this place.  Serendipity #3 for the day.  

I actually was seated at a different place and saw this woman, wearing an apron at another place a block away, so I go up and went to her place.  Actually, I could almost hear her calling me.  I had rabbit!  First time ever and it was delicious fixed in oil and rosemary.  I just savored my wine, my veggies, the ambiance of a neighborhood where neighbors bring special treats they cooked to share with the lady in the apron.   She turns out to be the second generation cook in this family place. Her father started it after wwII right here on this corner.  

I then began the wander through the back streets and past the street vendors and street performers. It's arts Fest right now in Roma and there's all kinds of singing groups and artisans with booths selling their jewelry or scarves or whatever.  It was such an enjoyable evening of just being and living.  I had to force myself to go home.  

Things they are a changing

So there are a few things I'm missing while here in Roma.  Or, rather there's things I've noticed are not  here. 

1.  Cats - different places used to be just overrun with feral cats here.  It wasn't uncommon to see dozens in a day.  To date, I've only seen one sleek, well fed black guy moving qickly from one place of cover to another.  

2.  Gypsies -  there were dozens of hordes of children and women blocking the sidewalks and swooping down on unsuspecting tourists to pick their pockets or worse.  Indeed, in one memorable encounter many years ago, I got a pinch on the soft skin of my arm that left an ugly bruise that stuck with me for more than a month.  Now, it's like they've vanished - maybe they took their cats and moved along.  

3. Water in the fountains - the Trevi fountain, the boat at the bottom of the Spanish steps and several others are covered up with plastic or worse.  Even the fountain in Piazza Barberini had no water running one morning I went out early - later in the day it was running, however.  Perhaps Rome is getting green and rethinking the constant flow of non-stop water? Perhaps all the calcium in the pipes clogged things up? 

4.  TV antennas - Roma's gone digital!   These used to be just part of the skyline, an ugly part, I'll admit, but a part none the less. Now, when I look out from a high overlook, all I see are church spires and red tile roofs.  Quite a welcomed change, really.  

5.  Motorini - the constant buzz of these little motor bikes was always just part of the background noise here. Somehow, it seems less pervasive and annoying.  Maybe all the Vespa riders of yesteryear have grown up and now drive mini cars?  I can tell you, the roads haven't gotten any wider, but they've gotten more crowded.  One trick I've had to remember is how to cross a roman street.  Slight break in the traffic? Just go! I did this in Barcelona and Dave and Deb just about had a heart attack.  It's the only way to be, I'll tell you.  Just go!

6.  Italians - when I went to the market, I felt like I was in the United Nations! I had to look hard for Italians who were working in the stalls.  Many of the people were speaking Italian, but others...I have no idea what they were speaking.  And the spices?  

They looked and smelled like things I had seen in Arabia, and Asia, but never before in Italy.  Maybe it's because it's too hot and they're all at the beach.  Maybe it's because I haven't ventured much out of the tourist areas, but I do miss them with their beautiful hair and impeccable sense of style.  

7.  My old friends - Thom, Hannah, Susan, Ellen, Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Ole, Evelyn and Federico.  Rome isn't the same without you, even though it was many, many years ago that we were here together as a cohesive, fluid group, those memories are as heartful as the original events themselves:

Singing in the church, dancing in the fountains, walking the best places till all hours, playing bridge till later than that, going to Porta Portesi before church, taking road trips with very little money by train or hitching, window shopping every Sunday and stopping for a cioccolato caldo, eating all the mandarini before even getting home from the market, missing the last bus...all these and so many more live in my heart. 

Thank you for helping to make Roma one of those places I'll always want to return to.  

The view from the terrace on Via Della Purificazione

I'm so excited! Thanks to my student Laura, who's now living back in Spain, I can now upload pics to the blog!  Thanks, Laura!  

So, I'm living on Purification St. this week.  Really.  I can even add photo evidence now, (so excited).

At the bottom and top of this road there are little free flowing fountains in which I purify my feet every time I'm on my way back in.  It's a lovely, refreshing ritual that literally and figuratively helps me to wash  the dirt off me, so I can come back home fresh and pure.  I think there should be fountains we could all take a little dip in on our way back home so we don't have to bring anything into our sanctuaries that we'd rather have removed from us.  

Wouldn't that be refreshing? 

 

What time is it?

2 July 2014

I'm so happy in my life right now.  I really love the inside-outside living and the bellezza that is all around.  I just catch my breath at every turn.  There's a palazzo or an old church or statue or something that just blows me away and the people here are so casual with it.  It's just where they live, it's normal to them to have ancient stones uncovered when you dig in the garden (and don't tell anyone, for heavens sake, or they'll come in and take over your back garden with an archeological dig that could take YEARS-see comments about time below). It's absolutely common to have a foot from an ancient statue on your terrace.  Walking around on cobbled streets laid by hand, stone by stone is just what you do, they're all like that.  Busses and streets have to be diverted around a columns, crumbling walls and mosaic floors that are 25 ft. down and 2000 years old.  

Last night, while wandering around trying to find the Pantheon, or rather my favorite gelato shop right next to it, it could have been 100 years ago, or 300.  The narrow ways between the buildings were car free, the lanterns could have been lit by gas, or candles before that.  Some of the paths were cobbled by black stones too uneven to have been cut by a machine.  There is just a warren of streets intersecting with one another at weird angles, widening at a piazza with a church or some Roman artifact.  I admit, I asked for directions a couple of times.  One Carabinieri (a sort of police) said, "Turn right, then go straight."  Impossible!   I wandered into smaller and smaller vicolos really enjoying the feeling of lost in time.  Then suddenly, there it was, in all it's glory, the majestic Pantheon.  The piazza just in front of it is a car free zone now, and it's so much more romantic. Plus, the gelato shop was still open, so that was a double bonus.  

Italians seem to have a different sense of time than we clock watching Americans.  I hear all the time "piano, piano". Which isn't about musical instruments, it means slowly, slowly.  There's time for it...domani o doppo domani -Tomorrow or the next day - today, let's have a coffee.  Today, let's just enjoy where we are and what we're doing.  When you live amongst 200-400 year old buildings built on the ruins of others that are 2000 yrs old or more, I think you just gain another appreciation of time.   What happens tomorrow happens, what really matters is right now.  

The rhythm of the days and the beauty which surrounds me is just soothing to my soul.  

I think I'll go cook up some of the yummy veggies I got yesterday, then head out to the Coliseum this afternoon.  I want to go to the top...I've never been.  All that time I lived here and I never went into the Coliseum. Guess I always thought there would be domani.  Well, today is the day. 

All roads lead to Rome

So, I've been in Roma for a couple of days now.  My feet are tired, but my mind is refreshed.  My legs ache and my heart is racing.  It feels like home to me.  I can't believe I haven't been here for more than 10 years...still, my feet seem to know the way to all my favorite places in this, the eternal city.  

I went to the market today to buy some of the most beautiful fruits and veggies.  The words  that came out, I'm afraid, were a weird mix of French, Spanish, and Italian.  Three countries in three weeks has done a number on my language skills.  When the guy at the veggie stand told me the price, I said something like "that's all?" in Italian.  He said "It would cost much more in France, right?"   The pizza man asked me "Are you from Spain?"  Oh well, by the end of the week, I guess I'll be more practiced.  Until then, gestures work great.  

I'm staying in a flat of a young film maker.  She's very hospitable and almost never here, so I feel like I've got my own place, right by Piazza Barbrini. I found this place through airbnb, which I recommend to anyone who wants a more homey experience than you can get in a hotel. I'm cooking and sitting out on the terrace painting and writing until the sun comes around then it's time to move into the dark where it's cooler to wait out the heat of the day and rest.  Evenings are spent taking a passeggiata,  a little stroll, around to this piazza or that, getting a gelato, or just sitting in the park, people watching.  

This Italian life suits me.  I love the rhythm of the days, the feel of the language on my tongue, the spicy smell of the tomatoes with fresh basil, the color of the sky at night, which really is "mid-night blue".  The sound of  police sirens and motorinos and church bells and neighbors shouting "Buon giorno" all blend to create this melodious cacophony which says I could only be in Roma.  

Barcelona part dos

Aside from the whole bag snatching incident (see Barcelona pt.1), Barcelona was pretty cool.  We got there the day before the San Joan celebration on June 24.  The evening of the 23rd, we went to the beach and partied with the rest of the city!  Which means we sat on our blanket and watched the fireworks going off left and right.  Everybody brought their own supplies of very impressive fireworks and just lit them wherever they sat.  No cordoned off places, no police to watch that no one gets too close, no mommas saying "don't do that" nor "that'll burn your hands off".  Everyone was having the time of their lives!  There were young and old dancing in the beach bars, kids and adults, lighting and throwing m-80 firecracker bombs, guys of all ages pissing in the surf...(ok, could have lived without that particular part of the celebration).  It was just a giant party and everybody was invited!  Really fun.  When we left at two, there was no end in sight, and actually, the fireworks continued ALL night and much of the next two days. 

In addition to that, we completed the requsite tourist things:  took a couple of walking tours, went through a couple of museums, went to the beach during the day a few times, ambled down Las Ramblas and saw Gaudi's park Guell (my personal highlight).  

The metro system is fabulous, the city is pretty clean (despite the eau du piss occasionally), and as the police and tourist information people say "they use no guns or knives" to steal your stuff.  Just stealth and cunning. Gotta watch that, cuz if you don't, you'll be yelling at the poor girl trying to make drinks for other unsuspecting tourists in Starbucks.

Barcelona pt. 1

     Everybody warned us, there were signs in all the shops, announcements over the loud speaker and warnings in all the guidebooks "Watch out for pickpockets and thieves". I said it myself many times, I even watched a young girl crying thinking "She must have been robbed."  Then, in a Starbucks, on our second day in the city, it happened to me.  I put my bag next to Dave on the bench, and returned to get our coffees.  He came up to help me, leaving my bag on the bench, with Debbie, his sister, sitting right there.  I returned less than 45 seconds later and it was gone.  My new, hot pink Vera Bradley bag was gone as if it had never existed.  I immediately checked the bathrooms, and looked for my very obvious bag, but it had vanished.  Inside were my travel Barcelona card (which the the information folks reissued when I brought the police report), an ACPL library book about Barcelona ( the very one that warned me), several maps with all our preferred stops and places to visit, a credit card and my beloved camera which I was forced to buy when the very same thing happened in Ecuador.   

Now, besides loosing the rest of the day waiting for the police (who, when they came, got to take notes on several robberies in the Starbucks which happened just while we were waiting for them to come), finding our way to the police station which is cleverly concealed inside a metro stop, and dealing with the general feeling of crappy, I had to take a good look at myself.  

I fancy myself this well traveled person who KNOWS things about traveling.  I've been around, I know what not to do, yet didn't I just get caught out doing exactly what I knew I shouldn't. Never put your bag down.  Never let it out of your sight, even for 45 seconds, even if you're in a place that really feels home-like.  It's NOT home.  I was embarrassed, actually, I felt ashamed that I was so stupid.  Now, I've come to terms with the event, and have adjusted my thinking to "What I did was thoughtless, I am not stupid."(thank you Brene Brown)  It didn't make me feel better that in the police station were more than a dozen people reporting getting robbed, several at Starbucks. It doesn't make me feel better that Dave has left his camera with me for the rest of the trip.  It doesn't make me feel better knowing that Dave and Deb both have taken hundreds of pics which will help replace the ones I took in Bardou which are now gone.  Only time will help me feel better, I think. 

Now I'm in Roma and the city definitely has the homey feeling to me.  However, you better bet that I'm FOR SURE keeping my eyes and hands on my bag at all times.  

Thoughts about a magical place... Bardou

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    Bardou is a tiny, stone hamlet in the Pyrenees of sw France.  Almost 50 years ago, a couple named Jean Ann and Claus stumbled on the place which was literally falling down.  They had been looking for a place to call their own, a place to raise kids, a place to live freely and be the king of the mountain.  From the beginning, they could see the good bones of the place, and went about buying each little wreck of a place piece by piece.  Now, they own the whole mountain top and have restored the houses stone by stone.  In the late 60's, they got the water running through the village (though the flush toilet is relatively new).  In the 90's, they got electricity.  There is a road that comes up here to the parking places (which is really just a wide spot on the side of the mountain.) but the village remains strictly pedestrian zone, there's no way a car could fit on these steep, narrow, stoney pathways.
    From the very beginning, Claus created a renaissance place where there were art shows, music concerts and weekly readings of Shakespeare.  He raised award winning sheep, and welcomed visitors who would work for their keep.  Claus has passed away, the barns are all that remains of the sheep, the Shakespeare is a thing of the past.  Yet, yet...the spirit of this place remains.  Guests are still welcomed  by Jean, and concerts still happen on a regular basis.

    I came to this place because of Dave.  Jean Ann is his mother's sister and at 80+ still walks the pathways, goes to the garden and up to the pastures, books the guests and minds the details with a sharp mind. She's got a quiet wit and a strong sense of self which couldn't help but develop in this place where one can almost be self sufficient.

    The road here is long and steep. We picked up a friend of Aunt Jean's at the train station in Beziers.  He knew the way to get here, so it was lucky for us because we didn't.  Just a bit of serendipity before we even got to this magical place. Turns out, Daniel is a German reporter who has decided to write Jean's story about her life here at Bardou.

    So we climbed up and up the twisty road that leads to the magical place that is Bardou.  Getting out of the car, everyone else went ahead.  Outside the wisteria draped arbor, there is a wooden carved sign that simply says "Bardou".  I stopped there, on the threshold under the wisteria, feeling for all the world that I was awakening into magic.  Tears sprang to my eyes,  while I stood there in the falling light, taking in the stone walls, and cobbled paths, and round spring full of gold fish trickling water.  Then, just to make the picture complete, a peacock crossed my path!  I was standing there laughing and crying, ready now to step into 300 years ago.
    Our house, golden, sparkling stone on the outside is rough plastered and whitewashed on the inside.  Tables and chairs tend to sit a bit away from the wall, as the bottom of the wall is thicker than the top.  We have a perfectly functional kitchen with a two burner stove hooked up to a can of propane, a sink that has cold only running water, a fridge the size of one you'd find in a dorm and open shelves for all and sundry.  The window sills are deep enough to count as counter space so they're my favorite place to chop veggies, as I can scrape the scraps right out the window (no screens)!
    The rest of the house consists of two rooms downstairs. One has the fireplace and a big table flanked by benches, and the other is kitted with two beds and a huge wooden, carved chest.  I'd use it as a dresser, but it's much more than that.  Up a steep, twisty staircase, that's almost a ladder, there are two rooms.  One is more of a loft with a double bed, one room has twins.  Simple, sufficient, and substantial. The door frames and huge beams are low enough for Dave to smack his head, so he's walking around like the hunchback of Norte Dame. I, however, don't have that particular problem and have settled into life here quite nicely...I'm cooking, painting, observing the beauty all around, eating cherries off the trees and strawberries right out of the garden, trying to remember some French, and am very grateful that most people speak English.  I'm taking so many pictures, too.  Every angle here is photo worthy.  Tonight<x-apple-data-detectors://0>, as I sat on the terrace eating dinner, I watched the light change and the peacock preen.
    It's such a relief to just BE; to sleep until I wake up, (which generally is fairly early...peacocks are LOUD! - And they're very excited in the spring, as Claus, the man who helps in the garden says.) to eat when I'm hungry, to take a nap, or a hike, or a shower, or a deep breath whenever I need to.
    I feel like I could stay here for a Long time...I'm sure the romance of this would wear off if I had to chop my own firewood to heat my house, or had to walk though the slush and snow over slippery, uneven stone paths to take a shower in the dead of winter.  But truly, I feel like I'm waking up to myself.  I told Dave that European Christine isn't nearly the tight ass that Am. Christine is.  A few more days , and I should be all awake and ready for the summer of art and love. [image.jpeg]Jazziestcj@yahoo.com