I had so much trouble going to sleep last night. I was experiencing so many different emotions. From anxiety, to excitement, all the way to sadness and a reminder that being in the moment is necessary.
I woke up at 7AM (3AM Tennessee time), loaded my bags onto the dock and made my last trip up to the Galp station for a double espresso and a croissant. The driver couldn’t find me and he didn’t speak any English. The woman with the beautifully wild hair was kind enough to translate and the driver found me.
I loaded up the trunk and we headed to the airport. We could barely communicate but we used the translator and laughed hysterically at the ridiculous translation. He dropped me off and I put my luggage on a buggy. I stood outside the airport, reluctant to enter.
I was unsure of what to do. I mean, get on the plane and fly home, obviously, but I didn’t want to give up the time that I’d spent in a different world. I finally relented and stepped into the airport.
The process wasn’t confusing, really. Some dude grabbed my cart and asked me where I was going. A policeman shook his head no and pointed at the dude. I thanked him and took my buggy to the check in point. I had two bags to check and a backpack that I picked up as my carryon. But…you can’t put a computer through in your checked bags so I had to buy another bag to store my electronics. For the record, spend the money on good luggage. Do not skimp or you’ll end up with flat tires that don’t roll.
Bags checked, carry on over my shoulder and I had to walk to the very last gate at the other end of the airport. Abuh. Good for the butt, I thought. I purchased a soda and a snack while I waited the two hours for the flight. Security was pretty easy to get through. I didn’t even have to take off my shoes.
Boarding the plane was easy too. They scanned the boarding pass and checked my passport.
The seats sort of looked like lawn chairs and were about as comfortable. Buckled in and ready to fly, I was dizzy and nauseous. I fought with it the entire flight. If I lean forward, my lip stings and my head gets light. I know, don’t lean forward. No matter which position I sat in, I just couldn’t get comfortable.
Arrival in Philly was different. Customs, claims, declarations, confusion. I didn’t feel competent but I made it through. By the time I reached the gate I was so dizzy. I asked the customer service for an ice pack for my face. They were so accomodating and nice. Thank you American Airlines.
The connecting flight had way better seats and far more legroom. I listened to music since the wi-fi wouldn’t connect and jammed out to my favorite songs. The flight was only two hours, but it was totally comfortable.
Arrival in Knoxville was coming home in such a different way. My friend Diane said I’d be changed by my travels. She said I’d never be the same. I understand now. I get it. I am different. But, as I’ve described before, home is where I am. Here, in my home, I can be all of me, express my ideas, share in stories, be a part of life.
I was more of an observer, and explorer of cultures. I saw things I only dreamed about. I tasted some phenomenal foods from all different culinary experts. I stayed in a quiet apartment. I stayed in a tiny condo. I lived on a boat. I wouldn’t trade anything for what I’ve been through.
I’m dizzy, nauseous, and I need to sleep in my own bed. My pup and kitty curled up next to me, my son sleeping on his cot in the livingroom. Life is good.
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved. Welcome home.
Last night I became increasingly dizzy and upchucked several times. By this morning, I could barely stand upright without feeling like I was drunk (without the fun, BOO!). My friends encouraged me to seek care, but I was reluctant.
I justified my dizziness because I’m on a boat, there was a yellow coastal event happening which was rocking the boat pretty hard. However, the dizziness and nausea continued when I spent time on stationary land. nao e’ bom.
My resistance led me to call the hospital where I was treated after the wreck. I wrote up a script to say to them:
I don’t speak Portuguese I know I am calling a hospital I was in an accident on Wednesday and broke my nose and face. May I please have someone who speaks English
Eu nao falo portugues eu sei que estou ligando para um hospital onde fui tratado quanddo quebrei meu nariz na ultima quarta feira algeem que fal ingles por favor
My attempt massacred the language.
The woman who answered the phone the first time said Eu nao sei (I don’t know) and hung up. I revised my script. Despite my atrocious pronunciation, she understood. She transfered me to another number. I repeated the script that worked. She said no and hung up. I called back. The first lady answered, recognized my script, asked me to hold, then transferred me to the same woman who hung up on me again. Dang it.
Finally I gave up on that. I called 112 which is the emergency number here. I started off by asking “Do you speak English?” A little she replied. That was about the extent of what we could understand. She asked me to find someone who could translate. They must have thought I was nuts. “Voce fala Englais’?” (Do you speak English?) I kept asking everyone sheltering from the rain under the gas station portico.
A woman asked me what I needed. She kindly translated what was happening to me, where I was, and other information. Obrigado (Thank you). Wait here she said. They are coming.
I waited. They showed up. My friends were messengering me their concern. I can’t really wear my glasses right now so it’s hard to read. I reassured them as best as I could, loaded up and headed back to the hospital.
I spent so much time in this hallway, I thought they forgot about me.Anti nausea and pain medication which helped ease the symptoms.
As I reported the other day, I broke my nose and my “mustache” line above my front teeth. As it turns out, that wasn’t accurate. I broke four bones in my face. No messing around here, kids. I go all out. No guts, no glory!
After consulting with colleagues and the IV being complete with my symptoms under control, the doctor suspected that my pain being out of control had contributed to my issues. An adjustment of medications, a list of warning signs, and 300 Euros later, I was on my way to the Farmacie to pick up 32 Euros of medication.
I got back to the boat, made a few phone calls to reassure my friends and loved ones of my well being (as much as I can be right now), and now I’m writing for you fine folks.
Tomorrow I’ll be trying to stuff six weeks of momentos into my two suitcases. I’ve already tried to figure out what I’d be willing to leave behind if it comes down to it. My six weeks in Europe is coming to a close. I fly out Tuesday morning for Philly, then home to Knoxville.
There are two more things I want to see before I go home. I’m hoping the weather will cooperate with me. They’re both within walking distance, basically across the street.
But this is the street I have to cross.
I’m going to sleep now. May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved.
Ten-Thirty this morning (Earlier than that but I wasn’t awake yet), Lori poked me to see if I was awake. We had a brief conversation where we discussed the plan of the day. She and Dave prompted me to choose something, but honestly, everything they’ve shown me has been extraordinary in such a profound way, I bowed to their wisdom and encouraged them to light the way.
There is a Galp petrol station in front of the marina. The woman who works there has wild curly hair that is both dark and light in a pleasing combination. She makes REALLY good espresso. That’s the meeting point. I was told to bring my laundry with me today.
The other day when I had my wreck, I grabbed the first thing from my dirty laundry to control the mess. I grabbed my bath towel which at the time was a perfect choice. However, it is my only towel which has prevented me from being able to take a shower. I have Dude wipes and some wipes called HoneyPot which have kept me at least presentable and not stinky. I’ve washed what I can, but without a towel, it has been limiting.
As I waited at the station sipping my cup of espresso (double shot), I observed a sailboat pausing at the dock below me. They were getting ready to head out. The Captain of the boat untied the front rope and gave a mighty push to the front of the large sailboat. Then he quickly went to the back of the boat and pulled the rope which forced the back of the boat toward the dock, pushing the front to where it pointed to the marina entrance. A man at the wheel obeyed the Captain’s commands, steering appropriately. Once the boat reached a safe trajectory, the Captain boarded and guided the boat out into the river. While this was happening, two other boats exited the marina, one with full sail (much smaller sailboat).
Dave and Lori arrived, loaded me and my laundry into the car and we headed off. Now, Lori told me where we were going, but I forgot which made the destination a wonderous surprise. We went to Cascais (CAS-caysh).
First we found a laundry. The roads were more narrow (I didn’t think it possible) than France. Dave navigated skillfully to our destination.
This Lavanderia, Mary Clean, was small. Three washers of various sizes and three dryers. It was very clean. How freaking cool is this? The washers put the soap into the wash for you! Load your clothes, pay, and your clothes get washed. What a revolution!
With time to kill, I offered food because I was hungry, they’d already eaten. I found a restaurant at the corner that had food I thought I could eat. We sat outside under giant umbrellas.
I ordered a soup and a tofu dish that came with rice. When the soup arrived, I was able to eat the broth, but not the actual vegetables. I asked the server if he could request the chef to blend the food so I could enjoy it. Absolutely. It came back with the texture of a thick oatmeal. Farts, that was outrageously good.
As Lori enjoyed hot jasmine tea and Dave was off getting his ears lowered, my entree came. Tofu, lotus root which looked like crunchy waffles, sweet potatoes, a curry sauce, and other vegetables mixed together but, I couldn’t eat anything but the tofu. I asked the waiter if he could do the same thing to the entree, which he did. Hokey smokes! It was stupendous. It came out with the texture of the rice. It was fantastic!
While I slowly made my way through my brunch, Lori popped off to put the clothes in the dryer. And again, she popped off to take them out of the dryer as Dave arrived shiny like a new penny with his spiffy haircut. We sat and chatted as I finished my decadence. I paid the bill and left tiny ducks for the waitstaff who had been so kind and entertaining.
Painted in the middle of the road is a starfish.
Lori had folded my clothes already! Man, how lucky can I get?! We went back to the car, loaded up again, and headed off to the next destination. Unfortunate event, we got a parking ticket. Abuh! But it has a QR code on it so you can pay it right then and there. That was an expensive parking spot.
As we rode through winding roads, I felt like my eyes were seeing the world in an entirely different perspective. The houses are painted in yellows, pinks, tans, cream, white, and almost all of them have terra-cotta roof tiles. It’s an incredibly pleasing aesthetic.
Dave pulled off into a parking area because they wanted to show me something. The video you’re about to see if of today and I finally got video to load from yesterday, so you get the bonus clip. The Ocean’s Music:
This is the two seaside places I’ve been taken to in the last couple of days. I can’t even.
We arrived in Cascais about 2:30 PM (9:30 AM East Tennessee time). It was similar in style to Pigeon Forge only the buildings were definitely not Southern American. Brightly colored with wares pouring out the doors. As we walked towards the shopping area, the ocean crashed and waved hello to us. The air breezed past us with scents of a variety of restaurants, the ocean, the scent of anticipation.
We popped into the first store in search of a sweatshirt for me. We found one, but the price made me balk. Lori reassured me there was plenty more to see. I left, making a mental note where to get it if I felt the need.
Look! I’m an ice cream store!
The shops were bustling, the outdoor cafe’s were filled with people. I popped in and out of stores, browsing from the many choices. Lori suggested a shop called The Bijou which had the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had in my life. Outstanding!
I didn’t purchase anything. I saw a lot that I was tempted to impulse buy, but I had a couple of people I wanted to bring things back for. Lori suggested a small corner shop that was deceptively large. To say I went hog wild in that store would be saying too little. I was able to get the gifts for my people in sensational style. I can’t show you the pictures of them because I want them to be a surprise, but I will post them after I’ve given them away.
Finished with the shopping and trying to meet the “deadline” for Dave and Lori to return home, we hopped in the car and drove all the way down the coast. Surfers were out paddling in the crashing waves. People were swimming despite the cool air. There were kids playing beach volleyball. At points on the road, the waves hit the guardwall so violently that it splashed up into the air and onto the cars and road.
Day done, we arrived back at Doca De Belem. Warm hugs, empty bladders, sunshine brightly lighting the afternoon, we bid adieu. They gave me a gift of their presence which was more than I could ever have imagined. I didn’t know I needed it so badly, but I did. I will cherish the memories we made together for as long as I live.
Falling in love with my friends, sharing moments in a life well lived, putting down the camera and just existing in the time we had together was a highlight of my trip. Gratitude has no bounds.
“Stop being a tourist and just be in the moment.”
Mare Martell, 2023
Storms A'Brewin'
Sailboat windchimes wildly chorus
obeying the Mistress of the Winds
The strength of ropes is tested
creaking, groaning, protesting
as the waters stake ownership
A waving power rising and falling
obediently testing boundaries
Like ashes to ashes
dust to dust
the ocean claims
what it must.
Mare Martell2023
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!
This morning I woke up to my alarm. I had to go to retrieve my now fired tile because my intention was to take a train down to Faro tomorrow to visit with some friends of mine. I’d made the appointment to pick up the tile for Friday, but…well, that’s what I get for not putting things in my calendar.
As I was getting ready to meet the Bolt car, I happened to look down into the water by my boat. HOLY TOLEDO! A mother farting jellyfish! My friend Bonk! said it was a box jellyfish. I’d never seen one in the water like that before so I was intrigued with the way they move in such a fluid like motion.
Ana, The Tile House artist was rightfully concerned about the brushstrokes. It was my first time making one, so I’m actually quite pleased with the result.
Traveling is something I obviously love to do. I love taking trains. I once rode on a train from Las Vegas, Nevada to Chicago, IL. I felt like I was in the lap of luxury even though I only had a plain seat. It was totally wonderful. So, taking the train on a three hour trip is exciting for me.
But first laundry. I’ve been conservative with my clothes. I wear the same pants for a few days changing my undies. I change my shirt every couple days and my socks daily. Although I didn’t have a lot, they were really dirty and needed to be washed. I plotted my course, hooked the bag on my back like a backpack, got on the scooter and went for a ride.
I found the place I needed to go pretty easily. Finding a legal place to park the scooter, not so much. I checked the map, found one nearby and tried to follow the directions. I made it to a parking lot, even found a stand that had other scooters parked there, but the app still refused to allow me to park. I checked the map again, found another one nearby and was heading that direction when I was suddenly on the ground.
I face planted. I don’t know what happened, but when my face caught the brunt of my fall, my hands didn’t even come out to brace myself. I felt an instant black pain as I landed. I layed on the ground for a bit until I could get my breath. I sat up slowly and realized my nose was bleeding profusely. I mentally checked the rest of my body and found nothing else hurt as much as my head and face.
I grabbed the towel out of my laundry bag and held it to my face as I stumbled to my feet. A couple found me, helped me out of the traffic lane. They brought me water to drink (I couldn’t do that) and water to wash the blood from my hands. I was shaking, dizzy, and nauseous. They asked me if they should call an ambulance. Since I couldn’t remember what exactly happened and I was bleeding so much, yes.
They waited with me as I alternated between crying and groaning. Fun fact: When you break your nose, it jostles every bit of your sinuses and they go into evacuation mode. It’s not pretty.
A broken nose, four stitches in my lower lip, my front teeth are pushed back with a fracture on the bone that holds the teeth. My glasses survived.
I can’t say this is my favorite part of my trip so far, but the people that took care of me from start to finish were loving, compassionate, giving, and attentive. I couldn’t have asked for better considering the circumstances.
I didn’t break it, but I did bruise my pinkie finger on my left hand pretty good. Scooters are fun, but not worth the trouble when they stop suddenly and throw you to the ground.
It’s been a long day with a lot of catastrophe. My damn laundry still isn’t done, but I’m alive even if it’s in pieces.
Of further note, the Bolt driver that picked me up from the hospital also made sure I got my prescriptions, got food from the grocery, and waited while I did those things. You bet your sweet bippy I tipped him well. Haziz, you’re top hats.
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!
I woke up this morning, not because I was done sleeping, but my bladder was urgently letting me know it was time. I folded myself out of bed with a huff and a sigh. I opened the hatch to a warm morning. It wasn’t hot, but I didn’t need a jacket to make my way.
I was bleary eyed with lack of sleep. I stumbled my way back to the boat. I climbed aboard and looked up as I entered the hatch. HOLY CRAP! What in the world had I been missing?!
A few days ago, my housesitter asked me what the sunrise looks like here. I had no idea. This morning I found out.
The air smelled so fresh, the breeze was balmy, the boat was barely moving. It was a perfect setup for my morning communion with the Nectar of the Gods.
There is an old adage that says, “Red skies at night, sailor’s delight. Red skies at morning, sailor’s take warning. Dudes, it’s true. A couple hours after this the skies went dark. The wind picked up to a pretty steady 27mph with gusts up to 39mph. The temperature stayed in the lower 60’s. It stayed that way for hours. I had to plan my trip to the bathroom in clothing that I could dry quickly on hangers. Even with that, it was drenching.
What I couldn’t get done today, I’ll have to squish into tomorrow. Tile pickup, laundry, packing, and, if the weather holds, a sunset sightseeing tour up the river. It starts in the marina to the west of me by one. Scooter rider I shall be.
I did get my train ticket to go visit friends in southern Portugal on Thursday. I even figured out how to get to the train station. Honestly, I haven’t felt brave enough to venture onto the public transportation system here although it’s quite extensive and there are a variety of ways to go. I don’t know what my problem is here when I had no issue whatsoever in France. Maybe I’m just tired and need to go home to process and decompress.
Note: If you’re an excessively gassy person or if you eat something that causes that, do NOT sleep in a tiny cabin. You will dutch oven yourself. Don’t ask me how I know this.
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!
I went to bed last night at 9:30 PM Lisboa time (4:30 PM East Tennessee time) because I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I snuggled under the warm blanket and closed my eyes. I didn’t wake up until 9:30 AM because I had to use the facilities. It’s kind of like camping in the sense that I have to go to the building to use those facilities. I went to put my shoes on and realized that my body heat had caused considerable condensation inside the boat. Enough to soak my shoes. Nuts.
I stripped off my socks and made it safely out to get my other pair of shoes. I put my drenched pair out on the seats of the back of the boat to dry. I got dressed, put on my coat, and…it started to rain. Not just a little bit either. I quickly exited, locked up, and went to the building. I was soaked by the time I got there and it’s really not that far. Abuh. But, such is the life of a sailor, eh? (winky face).
I stepped back out after washing my hands to clear skies and sun. Uh, well, okay. I went back to the boat to change my clothes and dry my coat. I was still pretty tired so I laid down and slept for five more hours. Good Pete!
When I woke up for the day, I had to use the facilities again. No issues, by the way.
I pondered what to do. I like to keep busy doing something and, quite honestly, if I’m not busy, I feel like I should be doing SOMETHING. But, as my sensible friend Jen told me, sometimes taking care of yourself means doing nothing. So I didn’t for the entire afternoon.
Resistance
Rock, creak,
tug, squeak,
jolt, sway,
river, bay,
tilt, groan,
wind, blown
rythym right,
sweet goodnight.
At 4:30, I made another trip to the facilities because my Bolt car would arrive at 4:50 PM to take me to another art class. I made it to the pickup point ten minutes early and waited. I checked my app and it said I went to the address the evening before and charged me money for a ride I didn’t take. Abuh.
I found the support ticket submission after several failed attempts, plead my case, and awaited response. In the meantime, I had to get where I was scheduled to be. I called another Bolt. Within minutes a fine young man named Ivan picked me up.
We chatted about touristy stuff, as we passed a large group of police exiting their station, I became curious. I asked him what the letters mean. There are three different police units in the area. One is like a city police force. One is like a National Guard only with police privileges, and the other is like the US’s FBI. I thought about it and in the quiet I requested:
“May I ask you a question that may seem inappropriate, therefore you’re not required to answer. I won’t think you rude if you don’t.”
“Sure.” he replied darting in and out of traffic.
“In the United States, the relationship of the African American people with the police is horribly abusive. Being black could be a death sentence simply because you exist. Do you find that the same in this country?”
He thought about it. As he changed lanes he said, “Yes there is racial issues here too. All across Europe. Our police kill black people here, but not like what I hear about in the States.”
“I feel ashamed of how we treat other humans.” I told him. “I’m a Unitarian Universalist. One of our principles is Social Justice. It seems ridiculous to me to not love people.”
“It’s good to know there are people like you out here that are working to make a change.” He said as he pulled up to a stop light.
“I wonder if it’s shame that causes such hate. I mean, if I do something wrong and I’m ashamed of it, I’m not likely to be nice about it if someone starts poking the bear.”
“It’s complicated.” He sighed.
“I just want to love humans for who they are.” I stared out the window at the neighborhood. There was graffiti on many of the walls, but the streets were relatively clean. People were walking everywhere, going in and out of shops, stepping in front of the many cars packing in bumper to bumper.
“Thank you, Ivan. I appreciate your willingness to answer a difficult question.” I spoke with sincerity.
“You’re welcome. We’ll change the world.” He laughed which made me laugh.
When we arrived at my destination, I wished I could have given him a hug. Instead I gave him a tiny yellow duck. He laughed again and thanked me. I tipped him through the app.
My Destination
I arrived at Agathe’s studio with anticipation. I walked up the three stories to her apartment. It smelled like spice with a hint of floral. Stepping into her work area was like being at home. There were various projects at different stages of completion, bins overflowing with supplies, jars of brushes, multiple paints, and a fantastic view (which I didn’t get a picture of, sorry) that could be seen from her plant filled balcony.
The table was set up with 8 stations. It turned out there was a group coming who were celebrating a birthday by joining the class. They were nearly a half hour late in arriving and I was already well into designing my unique tile.
Already finished the outlining, starting on the watercolor part.
When they did arrive, they came in cloudy with laughter. They were on a girl’s trip, they explained, so they were having difficulty finalizing plans. They sat down quickly. Agathe ran through the same procedure with them, but it wasn’t as relaxed because they were pushing time. We were the fourth and final workshop of the day. She was tired, but not impatient.
They caught up to me pretty quickly. I finished with my design just before the first of their group did.
My finished design before Agathe worked her magic on it.
They brought wine with them. They offered some to me which I declined. I’m not a teetotaler by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s not something that interests me either. Agathe broke out the wine glasses and the group toasted the birthday woman.
One by one they finished their works. There were a lot of oopsie’s and one woman kept saying oopsie-doodle whenever she made an error. It made me giggle.
Agathe took the finished pieces and worked her magic. When mine was done I honestly couldn’t believe what I’d created. I love it!
Yes, that’s on an actual tile with a cork backing. (Agathe comes from France originally. When she says cork with her accent it comes out sounding like cock).
I purchased a couple of gifts for my people back home, decided I was hungry so I asked Agathe where she goes out to eat. She said she doesn’t typically but when she does she goes to a few places nearby. I chose one she mentioned.
The place was pretty busy but the serving staff were prompt, polite, and efficient. If you’re vegan or vegetarian, don’t read the next sentence. Lamb Korma with jasmine rice, hot chamomile tea, sparkling water, and the last picture is of a homemade mango ice cream they make there every day. My tastebuds are drooling with happiness.
As I stepped outside after paying my bill, I hailed another Bolt car to return me to the boat. The street was busy with people and cars. It had the feeling of community. Like, the people who lived there really were included in the daily life of where they lived. It was a good feeling.
Looking up the street from the restaurant.
On the way back to the boat, I saw this pizza place which made me laugh out loud.
When I got back to the marina, I had to…use the facility. Well that serves two purposes because I won’t have to go back out again for quite a while and second if you’ve eaten Indian food when it’s not common fare, then you understand.
The European places I’ve visited are pretty big on water and electric conservation. Many places have motion sensor lights in them to save on energy. I’m totally down with that. However.
As I sat in the bathroom, taking care of my business meeting, it occurred to me as the light repeatedly shut off in my room that they didn’t take into account long periods of not moving. I had to keep sitting on the throne waving like a queen.
And that’s how my day went. May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!
When I left Caen, Normandie, France on Thursday, I was excited, filled with anxiety but also booming with curiosity. At the beginning of my trip, I flew into Paris, rode in a harrowing taxi ride to where I stayed, explored the city a bit. I got to see the pretty parts of the City of Lights. Going from the very clean city of Caen to what I witnessed outside of my bus window in Paris was a startling contrast.
The amount of garbage piled up along the highway was like a collection of mini landfills. How many freaking mattresses get discarded? I saw homeless encampments against the brick walls (probably to protect the “good citizens”). Everything that was a surface was tagged with spray painted testaments that the artist exists. I saw rather nice set-ups with chairs and campfires, a shelter built out of tarps.
It breaks my heart to see so much suffering when there is enough. I am of the mind and opinion that every person’s basic needs should be met. Safe shelter, clean water, food, sanitary toilet facilities. The mentality of every wo/man for themselves is based on self interest, I get that. I’m not willing to give up what I feel I’ve earned either. I’m not sure how to solve the problem, but I am aware of it.
The bus station in Paris was underground. I had a two hour layover there so I found a bench outside to sit on and observe. Immediately outside the doors of the station was a public gym where males were posturing their fitness by removing their shirts and video-ing themselves doing pull-ups. It smelled like piss. There was garbage everywhere. The border next to the sidewalk was muddy and slick. It was not a pleasant two hours.
But, graffitied on a pillar within my line of sight was the phrase, “Call me at night <3…” It inspired me to write this:
Call Me At Night ❤
When you're lonely for my company
When you require reassurances that you're okay
When you're over or underwhelmed
When you need to feel loved
When you need compassion
When you need to vent
When you need someone to be with you in silence.
Call me at night.
31 hours on a bus. I was so exhausted when I finally got to Lisbon, whose bus station is very busy but open air. I got an Uber to take me to my destination because I hads the dumbs. I just couldn’t function enough to navigate.
A nice full bodied fellow named Eduardo loaded my bags into his car and off we went. I had given him the wrong address. I found the right one, reset the ride, and we were off. On the way to the marina, Eduardo showed me the embassy district. When I think of embassies I think of tall, large buildings, but these were like…houses. They had a flagpole in the front yard of the respective country behind walled yards. I said Wow a lot.
We got to the actual address and I tipped him well. He was a great driver.
I got met by the host and his girlfriend who were warm, helpful, and good people. They helped me load up my stuff onto the boat, brought me a kettle to make coffee in, and left me to my leisure.
Okay. I know. It’s a boat. What the hell did I expect? The water was choppy and the boat was rocking a lot. I honestly felt so sick to my stomach that I put a garbage bag in a tiny trashcan and slept with it nearby. And boy did I sleep.
Motion sickness is real until your body adjusts.
When I awakened, I pushed open the hatch of the boat. Dudes…
I feel much better than I did. I look forward to breakfast in the morning and learning to ride a scooter (A razor like apparatus). I didn’t get to explore much today, but Saturday night (tonight here) I’ll be painting tiles with a local artist. Woot!
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!
I spend time with my client and his family today. It’s the last time I’ll get to see them until they return stateside in December. When I first arrived in the middle of September, it was because of them that I took a chance and stepped outside of my comfort zone. WAY outside.
My client and I exercised his body. I chattered on about things that I’m learning or figuring out. He’s pretty quiet, but he surprises me with how much he pays attention. It was a blustery day. Chilly, windy, rainy. The day seemed sad. I felt sad.
I fall in love with my clients in a non-romantic way. It allows me to give grace, feel compassion, and evoke empathy even when things are a challenge. I absolutely adore this family. Truly it has been an honor to work with them for three years and many into the future, (As Miss Pat would say:) God willing and the creek don’t rise.
We drank real champagne from the real Champagne region in France. It wasn’t quite how I envisioned it, but sharing it with people I adore and love made it all the better. They’re just incredible people.
This evening I’m packing up all my stuff to leave for Lisbon, Portugal tomorrow. I’ll be taking a bus (31 hours…don’t even) to Paris, then on to Lisbon. I’ll arrive Friday at around noon (Insert Miss Pat quote here).
I have felt such a raw presence of myself here. My eyes are open, my ears are hearing, my mouth is tasting, my senses are satisfied with my stay here. I’ve seen everything (but one) that I’ve wanted to see. I’ve made no friends which I’m okay with. I love the people here.
Au Revoir to my French Experience.
I knew that if I failed in France, I had the safety net of my clients to call on if I got in over my head. I didn’t, but knowing it was there was reassuring. The training wheels come off tomorrow and I’ll be striking out on my own to explore. I’m lollygagging, farting around, procrastinating even though I should be packing.
Okay, deep breath. Let’s do this, Mare.
May peace be with you wherever you may be. You are loved!
Back on day Twenty-Seven I told you about a course I was taking through Going With Grace called The Living Practice. Each day you’re given something to think about, write about, and enrich your living experience by thinking about your death.
Yes, I know that sounds counter-intuitive, but it really isn’t. Every day you do things, whether you realize it or not, you’re building your legacy. Your life is your message to others about what kind of a person you are externally, and to some extent even to yourself. But the juicy part, as Alua Arthur, founder of Going With Grace, likes to say, is that who you think you are may not actually be who you are.
We all have to go through the every day life stuff. We have to survive. We have to pay bills. We make time for social interaction or hobbies or adventure. But, who are we really? Without anything external, who are you?
I’m still pondering that one, but the question I’ve come to the answer for is:
Who or what was your most impactful death?
Of all the people I have loved and lost in this lifetime (part of the reason I became a Death Doula), the most impactful death would have to be my best friend L3 aka Bean. I lived with her and she with me for the majority of our adult lives. She was so freaking quirky, weird, and resentful of being pulled out of her comfort zone. A little secret I never told her, she MADE me braver than I felt.
I was friends with her for 37 years. She and I fought, laughed, created, sang, played, roadtripped, went to concerts, went on vacations together. She was my secret keeper. She was the fastest typer I’ve ever seen. I think they clocked her at like 125 wpm without errors. She was happier in a world of fantasy than in real life where disappointments followed her around like a rabid dog.
When she died, I got fucked up in the head. The person who was always there was gone. Who did that make me then? It took me about five years before I could think of her without crying or feeling devastatingly sad. Which, when you love someone like I loved her and know that you’re loved back, that loss is going to do exactly that.
Okay, so why was it the most impactful? I was 49, she was a month past 50 when she died. I suppose it’s a trick of my own disbelief or even a naivete’ but who the freak dies at 50? I was looking down that barrel myself and it freaked me out.
It made me really look at my life. I was unhappy. I was deeply depressed. I was so ridden with anxiety I couldn’t handle even missing a bus. Did I want to live the rest of my life like that? What could I change to make my life a better place to live?
She was the most impactful because I decided I wanted to live after she died. I mean live like we had intended to do together. She made me braver than I ever thought possible. She gave me the gift of life by leaving hers.
And now, here I am in freaking France getting ready to head to Portugal. The things I’ve seen would have made her laugh. The food would have blown her mind. The atmosphere would be right up her alley. She, although not physically, is still with me. She’s still here next to me,
I wear Bean in this.
(Well technically around my neck since I wear some of her ashes always) cheering me on to the best life I can live, for the both of us.
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!
Since February I’ve had a plan in place for September and October. I was going to fly into Paris and stay a couple of days. (check) Then take public transportation to Caen, Normandie, France. (check) I planned on staying in one place for September them move to another for the month of October. (check) Then I was going to stay in my client’s home while they went to Morocco. (Uh…) Well that was a bust, so I made reservations for another place in Caen. But…
If I’m not going to be working, why should I stay in one place? I started looking around. I checked out Brussels, Belgium. I looked at Geneva, Switzerland. I checked out The Hague in the Netherlands. But, they are rather cost prohibitive last minute. Then I thought about Barcelona, Spain. Again cost prohibitive.
I have a friend that housesits on the west coast of the U.S. and in Portugal. She’s told me so many good stories about her journeys that I started looking towards Lisbon.
Okay, so a bus goes from Caen to Lisbon via a route through Paris. As it turns out, it’s the same bus I would have used to get to Paris for my flight home.
Well, can my flight be changed from Paris to Lisbon? Why yes, yes it can. Okay, but can I find an affordable place to stay in Lisbon?
Yes indeed. Did you know that you can search for OMG places on airbnb.com? As it turns out there is a hobbit house you can rent, but I couldn’t figure out how to get to the affordable place because it was not very close to Lisbon.
What I did find was a boat. Like a real live boat. It is located near Lisbon, close to public transportation, and it’s affordable.
I rearranged everything, canceled, reworked, submitted, and dudes, I’m going to Lisbon, Portugal! I figure I’m never going to have this opportunity again and if I didn’t do it, I’d kick my own ass for being anxiety-ridden enough to maintain.
Courage is feeling the fear and doing it anyway. No guts, no glory. It’s my intellectual way of saying, “Hey ya’ll, watch this.” We’ll find out what happens.
Downside, the bus trip is like 32 hours. Bonus, I’ll be traveling through a lot of France, across Spain, and into Portugal. Did I forget to mention that some friends from ORUUC, my church back in Tennessee, moved to Portugal last December? OH! AND! They happen to live in the same neighborhood as the hobbit house. Maybe I’ll get lucky and get to see it, but I KNOW I’ll be lucky enough to see them,
We’re already in talks for me to train down to them and spend a couple days. Dudes, the world is a beautiful place.
May peace be with you wherever you are. You are loved!
Life is a patchwork of moments — laughter, solitude, everyday joys, and quiet aches. Through scribbled stories, I explore travels both far and inward, from sunrise over unfamiliar streets to the comfort of home. This is life as I see it, captured in ink and memory. Stick around; let's wander together.
Mare Martell 