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.
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.
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.
Mare Martell 