Category Archives: Human

Day Thirteen, Countryside

Aloha! Welcome! Today was a pretty great day overall. My left foot has two big blisters on it from walking so much, but it was totally worth it. I saw so much that it’s difficult to process. What I’m sitting here debating with myself is whether I want to share the beauty or the horribly necessary violence. Beauty it is!

This is a bit of beauty that I experienced today. To hear the birds sing in “French”, make sure you have your volume adjusted.

I visited here today with my clients. I’m still processing the immense loss of life, the violence committed, the size of the weapons used to destroy everyday life for a cause of justice, liberty, and freedom.

Where I’m staying was occupied by the German forces. There were big campaigns rallied to drive out the oppression but success took a few attempts and an incredible loss of life, destruction of homes, businesses, families.

It’s humbling.

Day Twelve

I have failed to take pictures today. I thought I did, or maybe I thought the pictures in my head, but I didn’t document anything today. You’ll have to deal with my storytelling of which I’m not sorry.

I was up shortly before 9AM (3AM EDT). I sat on my bed deciding what I wanted to do for the day. When I went to the laundromat yesterday, I saw a shop with beautiful things in its window. I visited an organic shop where they actually had oatmilk, on the shelf. Apparently this is common and also why I couldn’t find it at the larger grocery. Shelf-stable milk is a thing here.

I promised my return after work which I’m sure that shopkeeper hears all the time, but dude, seriously, oatmilk. Cow’s milk doesn’t taste the way it did when I was younger. Even my excitement at getting cream on the milk didn’t make it any more palatable. I was excited to get what I’m accustomed to back home.

I rode the bus out to my stop, but almost missed it because I was engaged in a book by the author, Frieda McFadden. I recently read two of her books, The Housemaid and The Housemaid’s Secret which were really good books in that they were entertaining with some plot twists that were satisfying. The book I’m reading now is called, Never Lie. I’m pretty sure I’ve figured this one out already, but I’m going to keep reading to see if I’m right or not.

I walked through the countryside aware of the flowers clinging to brightness, the ones who had passed their prime, the smell of the grass and cow flops, the sound of the cars passing me, the taste of the cool water that I refreshed myself with, the air not moving in my damndably hot pants that look so nifty. The stone that got caught in the bottom of my boot annoyed me enough for me to pry it out of the sole. I didn’t take the way my GPS told me, I took the road that passes the horses instead.

On my way to that road, I happened upon a sign that read: Oefs frais biologiques (Fresh organic eggs). My curiousity got the better of me and I wandered up to the small shed that had an open door. The left wall (nearest the road) was filled with decorative hay bales that had a price marked in chalk on the wall above them. On the back wall there was a locked mailbox that said Peiement (Payment). There was an open slot on the top. In chalk on a board were written the prices for the goods layed out on the shelf farthest from the road. There were dozens of eggs, cartons, and pressed oil made on the farm. Above each item, written on the wooden walls in chalk were the prices that were on the chalkboard.

Knowing that my client was having company for the next several days, I decided to bring them a gift. I selected and packaged a fresh dozen of brown eggs. I dug out my handy folded bag and packaged the purchase. I pondered and decided the oil was a good idea too. I put the Euros in the box as requested and returned to my trek.

As I turned down the road that would become the street they live on, I noted that the sides of the narrow road rose up steeply on one side, but were relatively level on the side I was walking on. The shade from the trees granted me relief from the sun, despite the cooling air.

As I was turning the corner, three houses from theirs, I recieved a message asking if I’d work Tuesday and Wednesday. I replied with “Uh, I’m actually at your gate right now. If you don’t need me, may I please use the restroom before I return to the city.” Instead of replying, she opened the gate and welcomed me with a warm hug.

Last week, I worked Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday because I’d just arrived in Caen and she wanted me to get acclimated to my neighborhood. This week, and each week after, I’m supposed to work the three days, more if required. I conveyed that understanding to her and the lightbulb came on over her head (not literally). Ironed out the wrinkles and we have a schedule and a plan.

They asked me if I’d be willing to go with them to a museum called Le musee de la bataille de Normandie. They want to go while their grandchildren are in school since they show little interest in the history of where they’re currently living. We set a time and I will make sure my client is safe, steady, and comfortable.

What I didn’t expect was the conversation after she asked me if I’d been to the Caen Memorial yet. No, I admitted. I went to the Abbey d’ Homme instead. I told her of the things I learned about William the Conqueror. Her eyes lit up. She asked if I wanted to hear a story. Of course I do!

She told me how William’s wife, Matilda of Flanders, came to be wed to him. It was a great story with rejection, acceptance, and love. Then she asked if I wanted to know why William, in his youth, was called William the Bastard. My eyes got big and I encouraged her to continue. I already knew he was called that, but I wasn’t sure why.

The gossipy version of the story told of a young Duke of Normandie living in the Chateau de Normandie with a bunch of his knights. He was in his late teens at the time. One day he was looking out his window toward the river when a group of village girls showed up to wash clothes in the water. One girl caught his eye in a big way.

So much did this beauty capture his imagination that he sent his knights to discover who she was (A Tanner’s only daughter and only child) and to tell her to come to the castle at his request. The knights set out to do their Lord’s bidding.

When they found her father, they asked him to tell his daughter to come to the castle. He said, “That’s really up to Herleva. You’ll have to see what she wants to do.” So they did.

The peasant girl, Herleva, said the only way she’d visit is if there were certain criteria met. First, no sneaking through back doors, she was to cross the drawbridge like a lady. Second, she was to be provided a horse to ride because she wasn’t going to show up all sweaty to this meeting, and finally, Robert I, the Duke, had to personally invite her to his home. The dubious knights returned to the castle with the requirements for the young woman’s visit.

To their surprise, Robert I readily agreed and offered an official invitation, provided a horse, and lowered the drawbridge. They met and talked for several days. Duke Robert I was smitten, and apparently she was too. Shortly after the visit began, she sent word back to her father that she was going to stay in the castle.

Several months after that, William was born out of wedlock to the Duke and Herleva. He was considered a bastard because it wasn’t possible, because of their different stations in life, for them to marry.

That didn’t stop Duke Robert from taking good care of his son. But the weight of his sin, of having a child out of wedlock, bore heavy on his soul. He went to Herleva and told her that he was seeking redemption from his sin. The only way he could see that happening was if he participated in the Second Crusade. She objected because it was basically a death sentence that many didn’t return from. He reassured her that he would return.

To make sure that his son remained cared for, he enlisted his most trusted friends to insure that William would not only be protected at all costs, but that if anything should happen to the Duke, William, as his only son and rightful heir, would be given the title of Duke. His friends agreed.

Ironically, the Duke Robert I was returning from the crusades when he died. His friends had protected the young William and fulfilled their promise to Robert. It nearly caused a civil war because many didn’t want the bastard to be put in a position of power, while the other camp kept vigilant. History tells us, the friends won the battle and William the bastard became William the Conqueror.

My client’s wife ended her story with a flourish. She was delighted that she could share the knowledge with me. Me too, really. When history is told in stories, making the names in history books come to life, to be human, it really gets it for me. I mean, who doesn’t want to learn the stories that make boring dates and names come to life again? Okay, anyone? Is it just me?

Tomorrow there will be pictures, I promise. Thank you for indulging my fascination with this part of the world by following my adventures. It really means a lot to me to see when people read what I’ve written. It motivates me to continue to share what I’m learning, experiencing, and witnessing.

P.S. My mom is still in the hospital because she can’t eat anything. Liquids seem to be okay, but that’s not good for long term. They’re putting her on high powered antacids in hopes of getting whatever is pissed off and causing her pain when she eats to settle down and behave. She sounds irritated that she’s still incarcerated in the hospital (HA!) but she seems to accept that until they understand why she can’t eat, it’s just how it is.

Go in peace.

Day Eleven

Don’t worry, kids. This post is going to be shorter than the others because I didn’t really do anything today except go to church at ORUUC on zoom and laundry. There is plenty going on back home with my mother being admitted to the hospital for kidney failure due to dehydration. At this writing she is sounding much better and the doctors are cautiously optimistic about her recovery.

Church is one of my favorite activities on Sunday. The people who attend the church I do have given me such a gift of their support, kindness, and love that I have integrated into the mesh of the congregation. It’s THIS church that I belong to. It’s THIS church I support as I’m able. It works for me. It doesn’t have to for anybody else, but I’m glad it works so well for so many stellar people.

Okay, laundry. It’s my custom to do my laundry on Sunday afternoon while spending time at my Beastie Diane’s house. We talk, watch crime dramas, share worries and concerns, and generally enjoy one another’s company. With me being so far away, that’s not possible right now. She IS taking care of my little dog Phoenix while I’m here. Diane’s top hat all across the board.

My beautiful Phoenix (Phoe)

First I had to find the place which wasn’t too difficult. I’m getting used to navigating this city now. I’m not an expert, but I’m learning new things every day. I found the Laverie automatique (Laundromat) on this corner with a hopping cafe across the way.

I’ve used laundromats before. You put in the coins, push the slider in, and your laundry begins. Not so in this place.

First you put your clothes in the desired machine along with soap (which I nearly forgot). Then you go to a console on the wall that gives directions in French how to use the machines. You punch in the number of the machine you want to use then hit the V button for enter. Then you deposit 4E50 ($4.50) into the slot, or you can use coins, or you can pay by credit/debit card. That feature was an unexpectedly pleasant surprise. Once done, you go push start on your machine and it works.

The place was small but clean. Everyone in there was courteous to one another. The guys using the dryer 11 put a comforter in it which blew up and filled the drum with fluffy bits of polyfiber. When they went to take it out and realized what happened, I learned some new cuss words in French!

I helped a young man figure out how to use the machines after I had to be shown. He spoke broken English but was grateful when his dryer started to run since he admitted it was his first time here. I nodded sympathetically, “Me, too.” He thanked me and wandered out into the street.

Learning how to adult the French way has been quite the painful learning curve for me. But, with every challenge, I’ve eventually figured it out. I suppose that’s what adulting really is, keep trying things until it works or breaks. I am truly enjoying the experience of being somewhere with “new air” as my friend Melissa Kay likes to say.

Despite the issues happening at home in the States, I’m grateful for this life. I’m grateful for this opportunity. I’m so glad I was asked to come work here with my client.

Day Ten

Today started off as a humdinger when I walked out of the bathroom and the lens of my glasses clacked to the floor. I wear bifocals, so trying to find that itty-bitty screw on the wooden floor was not something I could accomplish easily. I wasn’t upset, frustrated, but not upset.

Lucky for me, a short walk from the apartment I’d noticed an optician’s shop. I discovered the gentleman who worked there spoke English and was able to get my glasses repaired, gratuit (Free of charge)!

How lucky am I to be paying attention to the world I’m experiencing right now?

This is the place where I find myself commonly indulging in a double espresso each morning. The people are friendly and I haven’t tasted anything that wasn’t total top hat.

I decided I’d had enough of the stringy ends of my hair. I visited a salon called L’instant Chic Coiffure Feminin-Masculin. The Artist that agreed to my transformation was named Aurelie. She was a bit younger than me and had been doing hair for 30 years!

BEFORE
DURING
Also DURING
Nectar of the Gods!
The artist and her medium.

Aurelie is the talented artist that brought my crowning glory back to life. While in the shampoo chair, I got a massage which was incredibly relaxing. 100% recommend!

AFTER!

One of my besties told me that to go back to the apartment would be a waste of a million bucks (Since that’s what I told her I felt like), and my reply was, as it always is when she’s right, “Stop talking sense!”

Although it looked like it was going to rain, I braved the cool air to go to the Abbey de Homme. I’ve posted pictures of the exterior a few times, but I’m about to give you a video tour of William the Conqueror’s final resting place. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a church this large and ornate in person. I hope you enjoy the bits I can share with you.

Every day at noon, this is what I’ve been hearing. It rings every hour until 10PM.
I tried to give you the feeling of the vastness of this space. I don’t think I could possibly do it justice. It was extremely reverent to the point where I didn’t feel like I should speak at all. In fact, nobody that I observed seemed to be speaking either. There were stations where you could purchase prayer candles to make requests of the saints honored within the walls. I got one of St. Joan of Arc.
Saint Nicholas
Saint Therese
Saint Joan of Arc
Jesus of the Sacred Heart
His mom, Mary
And Pops, Joseph

The tomb of William the Conqueror

September 9, 1087, age 59

(Natural Causes)

He was born in 1028.

As originally posted in French.
The translation to English

Oh Mary,

Queen of Peace

May through your intercession

bring the reconciliation between

peoples

The directional sign.

Day Nine Conclusion

This is an induction cooktop. In the United States I’ve either used a campstove, a gas stove, or an electric stove. I’d never seen anything like this. I gave up trying this morning with a vow to master it this evening having stored all the ready to go ingredients in the fridge.

The Oracle has spoken. I had no idea what I was doing until watching this informative video.
SUCCESS! I learned how to use an induction stove! I’m giving myself a gold star on my forehead for this accomplishment!
A portico.
Note: the handle looks like a pull, not a push.
This was by the bus stop I used today. The corners of the building are rounded which I thought was pretty cool.
These are pretty common to see in random places. I’ve noticed them primarily on roundabouts.
This is a bakery in Cairon. The displays are lovely, the people are kind, and the treats that can be found here are fantastic! I made my selection.
They packaged it in a very pretty little box. Even in my bag it didn’t damage the contents.
That is a lemon meringue tartlette. I was in heaven when I had it for dessert at dinner time.

Today was a good day. My client has made a dramatic improvement in three exercise sessions. We even took a walk down the rural road to see the white horse that lives there. We played ball together, counting to 100 in French and 30 in Spanish before he tired. His lifts from his chair were stronger and faster without as much support. He’s just plain wonderful and I love him in a familial way.

I think, in order to do what I do as a caregiver, I have to be willing to fall in love with my clients. Not romantically at all, but to see them as a human who is doing the best they can with what they have to work with. It allows me to grant grace, and even sometimes mercy, when things don’t work out like they want them to and they get frustrated.

I love my vocation. I love what I do. I love being love in a service type of way. It’s so deeply enriching to my life that I honestly don’t know what else I’d do that would create such a great degree of satisfaction.

I extend that into my daily life as well. It is good to be needed. It feels good to know I can help. It is empowering to know that something I do, say, or offer is putting more love out into the world. It’s easier now for me to accept that same love that’s given to me by so many beautiful souls. I sometimes can’t believe this is my life.

But, it is. I’m living the life I always dreamed about. I’m doing things I thought weren’t even possible. I’m learning (albeit with a shockingly painful curve) every day to do new things. I wouldn’t trade this life for anything!

Day nine note

The other day when I went to the grocery, I picked up some delicious things. My plan was to cook for myself, but I kept putting it off. This morning, I got ambitious.

I took out the spinach and put it in the colander and poured boiling water over it. I cut up potatoes into tiny little pieces. I chopped up an onion and put it in the pan with what was sure to be a gastronomic pleasure. I popped in some vegan butter, and tried to turn on the stove.

I was pushing buttons like it was a typewriter, and nothing happened. Nothing. I tried turning it off and turning it on again, but to no avail. I tried for a good 15 minutes to figure out how to work the stove, but no.

The stove was smarter than I and I ended up going to my favorite place for breakfast. They make better coffee than I do anyway.

Day Eight, Caen Botanical Gardens

I woke up late because yesterday I drank too much caffeine and so I was still wide awake this morning at 5AM! That’s only 11PM in East Tennessee, but still. I wishy-washed about what to do and finally decided I’d start with a double espresso (Will I ever learn?!) and some breakfast. I went to the spot where the man speaks enough English to take my order.

It feels sort of sub-human not to be able to do much but grunt and point. I have mastered the order for espresso, so that’s a plus. Bon Jour is common, Merci’, Desole (Diz-ole’) which means Sorry, Au revoir. So far I’ve been able to skate by with those small phrases, but if anyone asks me something in French, I just stare blankly at them, point to my chest, and say American. Most of them laugh at me, which, truly, I deserve.

While enjoying the atmosphere of the restaurant, I decided to look for a park.

I asked Google maps for the nearest parks. I sorted them by distance, selected a Botanical garden and set off. Now, before I go any farther in this story, let me explain something Google didn’t get. When I asked for a garden or park, I didn’t mean the street name. I arrived at the destination only to find that it was a street. MAOU!

Looking at the map, however, I noted that the Caen Botanical Garden wasn’t far away, so I adjusted my sails and set off again.

The little car was painted like the Love Bug Herbie. It was cute and the woman who owned it was an older woman with dyed dark hair. When I put up my camera, she smiled radiantly and laughed.

The screeching I could hear echoing off the building walls turned out to be this handsome seagull. Skyrats I’ve heard them called, but he was none to happy to be hanging out in the neighborhood.

The next picture is a shot down the street where Google sent me to the wrong place. It felt a bit overwhelming with all the details involved in the shot, but the street, itself, was quiet.

The last picture in this set reflects the height, the gothic style, and the detailing of the old homes. Each house on the street had a different, although similar, style. Some had carparks, others had on street parking. I recognize some of the car brands, but there are many I don’t.

At the end of the street, I turned left and walked a good length of block. At the nearby roundabout, there were people bustling about their day. Many of them seemed to be about 65+, carrying groceries, and dressed conservatively.

This is a sign. No, really. I understand the basic words, but I had to use Google translate to really understand. I didn’t bother with the names of the plants because they are carefully curated, marked, and I wanted to enjoy the time I had.

Yes, that’s me. A face with the name. Mare Martell.

Noel Bernard (1874-1911) demonstrated in this greenhouse the symbiosis or fungi in tuberous roots of orchids.

The scent of the earth in the garden was so rich with alien fragrances that it made it hard to breathe…breathtaking. Even in early Autumn, the flowers and plants were holding true to their lives. The temperature was 64 degrees, partly sunny, a breeze blowing but the redolence cleansed my spirit.

Several groups of French schoolchildren were being ushered through the phytology. The teacher attempting to hold their attention was chattering to them as much as they were chittering to each other.

I sat on a bench for a bit to engage my senses with my surroundings. Other than the children in the distance, it was peaceful. Hidden birds in the trees sang praises to the sky. Life is good.

The music of water called to me. I heeded the melody to an eight foot tall cascade tumbling languidly into a shallow pond. I wanted to sit and watch the waterfall, but the carved log bench across from it had been knocked off its base and was resting in an awkward angle removing that possibility.

To the left of the waterfall were some rough stone steps. I climbed up them to the top. The first picture in the above series was my reward. The third picture shows an odd growth pattern. It stretched across the ground for about nine feet before reaching its trunk to the sky. The last picture is a water garden feature. On the bottom right, you can see where it meanders into a stream. The lily pads were growing as if an artist had chosen that precise spot to place them. I sat on a bench and drank in the beauty for a while.

And then there were the sculptures scattered among the natural features. These were a bit more contemporary, but the following statues follow a more traditional sense of aesthetic.

The neatly trimmed hedges that give background to these was being trimmed by a man on a very tall ladder. They are precisely cut to 90 degree angles at the top, forming a box-like structure to them.

An interesting trellis.
The ceiling in the bistro.
A fiery flower near the trellis.

As I made my way back to the apartment where I’m staying, I reflected on the sensory contentment I experienced. It’s like history pumping through my veins in such a magical way that I’ve been absorbed into the world. The architecture is so beautiful that even though things are close together, even touching or seamless, there is a sense of spaciousness. A liberation of the senses that I’d equate to a dream-like state that I don’t want to wake up from any time soon.

My spirit is happy. My heart is full. My body, although cranky, is grateful for the vigor in which I’m engaging with the city. My guidance is to travel as often and as far as possible. Although I’ve traveled quite a bit of the United States, experiencing the uncertainty of the unfamiliar has been extraordinary. And to think, if it weren’t for my clients, I wouldn’t be here! Peace be with you.

End of Week One

If you’d told me a year ago I’d be sitting in an apartment in Caen with the windows open, a breeze cooling the air, and a kebab on my dinner plate, I’d have called you some names including a liar. But, here I am doing just that. Unbelievable!

Today was ideal. I woke up when I was rested, took a shower, took my meds, ate some breakfast, made some coffee in my new pot, and enjoyed the quiet of the courtyard. This is pretty much as close to perfection as I’ve ever experienced.

As I was walking to the bus stop, I passed a fresh fish store. It smelled just like you’d imagine, but the fish looked fresh on the ice.

Before I got on the correct bus, a middle-school aged boy asked me if I knew which bus would take him to the Caen Memorial. Since I’d seen it on the bus I take, I told him I suspected the same line, but with a bit of research on my Twisto app, I found that the number 2 bus is the one he was looking for and, as luck would have it, it was arriving a short distance from where we were. It felt good, again, to help someone despite my navigational and language challenges.

The absolute beauty I get to experience while I ride the bus has made me feel a bit greedy for more sites. The first picture is a church a couple miles away from where I’m staying. The second one is a florist/garden shop on/in Richemont that I see each day I travel to Rosel. It’s just so lovely I had to share.

It wasn’t long after that before the University students started piling on the bus. The body heat made the temperature jump up a good 10 degrees. A girl, maybe 18-ish or so squeezed into the seat next to me. We sat in silence for a while. I pulled out my bag of tiny little yellow ducks and gave one to her with a smile and the word “Bonheur” (It is pronounced kind of like Bon-oo) which means happiness. She smiled back and put the little duck in a pocket in her bag.

I arrived in Cairon Commerces at 1:30pm and as promised, my client’s fantastic wife was there to greet me with her grandson driving. I loaded into the car and enjoyed yet another ride.

The exercise with my client was better today, although not where he was. I asked if he wanted me to come more frequently for a while to get him back up to snuff. He politely declined and said that three times a week was ample.

Then I was told the news that my planned stay in their villa would be more complicated than originally expected. There was a discussion about introductions, building relationships, and then asking if it were okay. I was not okay with that uncertainty.

Airbnb helped me to find and arrange a place to stay in the two weeks that I’d already had planned. Both of the places I’m staying in already were already booked so I ended up finding a third place in Caen to stay. I’m not even upset about the extra expense, mostly because I’m moving all over the city finding new neighborhoods, new paths, and it’s freaking exciting!

From my bus stop to return home, I can see the private property chateau, a field that has construction taking place on it, and a Cairon memorial. The wind was around 25mph today. I contemplated talking to the conductor, but I thought better of it since I’d not understand his response. My hair was a massive knot when I got back to the apartment. It was surprisingly not cold though.

Of note, the roads are ridiculously narrow as I’ve mentioned before. It’s harrowing enough in a car, but to witness the conductors navigate the tight corners is really impressive and worth mentioning again. Two busses can’t comfortably fit side by side on the roads farther out from town.

The ride home was uneventful and felt familiar already which I found surprising. I arrived at my bus stop and searched for a pharmacie. I found one and asked for band-aids and some antibiotic cream like Neosporin. They sell band-aids that come in a long strip that you have to cut the length you want. They also sell the ones I’m accustomed to, coincidentally with an antibiotic in the pad. I was unable to secure some antibiotic cream because it requires a prescription here. WHA?!?! I’ll make do, but I was surprised to learn that.

The church bells have signaled 8PM. Typically I hear one church, or rather I’ve only noticed one. Tonight I heard three distinctly different bells announcing the end of day. When I lived in Grand Rapids on College Avenue, I could faintly hear a church bell ring at noon. Here, it’s like the melody of the day.

I will be sad when this time here ends, but I’ll think about that later. For now, this Dude is abiding in It’s a Wonderful Life.

Day Six, in Caen, Normandie

This grouping of pictures was what I saw while waiting for the bus this afternoon.

While I was waiting, I had difficulty buying a bus pass because the site was in French and my card kept getting declined. Turns out they hadn’t fully activated the card and I was finally able (after missing the bus I needed) to get things arranged correctly and purchase a month pass.

While at the bus stop, a woman approached me and asked for water which I’d just purchased. She had blood all over her pants and it didn’t appear to be hers. I don’t usually carry tissues in my bag, but today I did. With a few of those and some of the water, she was able to get most of the blood out of her pants. She thanked me profusely.

Not even two minutes later, a young man no older than 20 approached, his nose was gushing blood. I gave him the rest of the tissues because he needed them more than I did. Merci’ was repeated several times. I felt pretty dang good being able to help even when language is a barrier.

The number 23 bus arrived and I used my new ticket…on the wrong QR code. OY! But with a bit of squeaking, I was able to actually get the right one.

Riding on the bus has never been like this in the States. There are random plaques stuck on walls, the busses are clean, and the neighborhoods are insanely beautiful. I thoroughly enjoyed the entire experience on my way to Rosel to work with my client.

The views were incredible!

As the bus pulled into the end of the line, the neighborhood was graced with gated gardens, colorful roofs, and flowers everywhere. And, sheep. Sheep?

Freaking sheep! As it turns out, Line 23 of their buses alternates between a tiny little village and Cairon, which is where I was supposed to be. Dude…

Anyway, with Google translate in hand, I had a conversation with the conductor (They aren’t called drivers here) and she graciously realized my mistake and confusion. We chatted for a bit using our phones as the go between. The sheep, she explained were white or black mutton according to their wool color.

The breeze and scent of that stop was breathtaking. I don’t think I’ve experienced such bliss at a bus stop with sheep bah-ing nearby as the wildflowers danced.

She got me to the correct stop and alerted the other driver about the idiot on board (just kidding, American (although that can feel synonymous here.) And off I went on the correct bus.

It was 1.4 miles from my destination on foot. I can do that, right? Sure I can! I started off at a brisk pace carefully following the GPS as if it were a religion. As I slowed, because I’m fat and out of shape, I began to pay attention to the world around me.

As I walked the path I was told to, I was in awe of the provincial sites I was witnessing. It gave me a sense of deep peace, curiosity, and wonder. It practically felt as if I were living in a dream with no grounding in reality.

By the way, 1.4 miles isn’t that far, I acknowledge that, but when you’re not really sure where you are and a bit hesitant to trust when the GPS sends you down a literal cow-path, it feels daunting.

Finally! I arrived in the small village of Rosel. The roads are very narrow so there is a gravel rut on the side so the vehicles can pass one another. Watching the conductors skillfully navigate the extremely tight turns was rather impressive.

AND! I MADE IT!

I spent time with my clients and realized how dramatic of a difference two weeks without exercises had been for him. Although I have to admit, playing ball with him again was total top hat. I was able to do a load of laundry, but dryers are not common here. I packed up my folded damp clothes and toted them back with me.

You’re not going to believe this, but I got on the wrong bus AGAIN! I mean it was the right one, but going the wrong way. I explained through the translator where I needed to go. The conductor told me to get off the bus, cross the street and wait. After a turn-around, she was ready to head back to Caen. I’m going to be a pro at this rate!

This is the correct stop for me to find my way back to the city. It was a hard lesson to learn but lucky for me, I’m evidently a slow learner.

There is a place for me here.

Once I got back to the apartment, I pulled out my handy portable clothesline, unpacked my damp clothes, and hung them to dry.

It wasn’t long after this that I crashed for four hours. It’s been a physical challenge for me to walk as much as possible. I need to get down to where I feel like a human again instead of a large person.

I love you. I miss you. Not enough to come home yet, but eventually. 🙂