The Re-Turning Point

I am writing again. ...Well, obviously.

I last posted, it would seem, on September 25, 2008 ...and it is now November 10th. Obama has won the election. The leaves have changed their colors to a warmer tone and are learning to fall again. America is America; Europe is Europe...And I am no longer in Europe.

And I have a yearning to write. Or eat. Or stare out the window. Or sing or scream or cry or...something.

So, hello again, and I am writing. Obviously.

I am back in Portland, Oregon. I don't know that anyone still reads this, and I'm not sure that I really want to know for certain: if you know the people who read your ramblings, you have a way of editing rather than speaking truth...I wonder if we didn't edit what we say or do in the company of those we care about or have to encounter on a constant basis...would we all be much happier? I doubt I would get as offended by some remark on how I look or what I like or my measurements of success or failure in the world, if EVERYONE were just straight forward all the time... and if I had the courage to say what I really think to those around me, rather than being polite?

...It has been hard to come back to the computer: I have intended to write each day since I returned (a month ago, actually) but somehow...it has felt-- very literally-- as though a 7 foot tall, five foot wide block were standing smack! in front of my computer, so that, even when I WOULD turn the darned thing on, it was there in the pit of my stomach, nagging at the corners of my brain and my breath, both to get the hell out, and magnifying that pit of guilt in my organs, saying, "you know you should; you know you promised; you know you WANT to..."

The truth of it is... I feel like a coward. I feel like a failure. I feel all those unfinished assignments and broken promises and years of little white harmless pointless lies have been blasted through a megahorn... and now the world knows-- if they ever doubted it in the first place-- just what kind of a person I really am.

This sounds terribly self-indulgent and over-dramatic, I am well aware... but it is nonetheless true.

For all my big talk and stories of promised adventure and strength and self-confidence and heroism... I came home. Not even a month later. I spent the last of my savings on a plane ticket...and gave up.

My mother says to her students, "Courage is the willingness to be afraid, and act anyway." Strong, moving words...no? But who wants to HAVE to be courageous every waking moment? To know that, yes, you CAN survive and defend yourself from all the men who intend you ill and all the people who wish to steal your pack or your money... but it will mean that you forgo forever a good nights rest, or letting your guard down in enjoyment or life without...FEAR.

Or, perhaps, the real lesson was just to let go. But it seems to me, the world of adventurers was, indeed, built by men. And made for men. It disgusts me and frightens me and angers me. But it is true, nonetheless... or maybe it was just a really cold autumn.

I never realized until this trip just how female I actually am-- not feminine, but female.

On one hand, when you are a woman traveling the world, alone, it inspires and moves people. On the other it shocks and confuses...sending out all sorts of unintended messages. On still a third, it puts you in peril that I doubt a man will ever understand.

An interesting revelation-- and not one I am keen to admit, even now. I am a creature who truly wishes for equality...I think. But the world shifts when you are alone in the world. People react to you differently...or maybe you just learn to notice.

In any case...

Better late than never...right? To write, I mean. Or to...well...

I wonder what my teacher at Cornish would say if, five or more years later, she finally received my unfinished "Songline" project that was never turned in...what would she do?

It's so easy to say that it's too late to do something, but it never is...really. And if you do not finish the things you begin, they stay with you forever...is the lesson I think I am learning...

So, in short, while I will not probably write much more in this entry, I am choosing to write again.

No, I am not still on my journey around teh world (in Europe)...for now. It has come to an abrupt...pause. I just can't force myself to say "end." And I do not believe that it has, at any rate.

I am in a state of confusion. I do not know why my words should be important to anyone, now that I am not on the greatest of adventures...

I am a little thrown off by the constant knowledge in the back of my mind that any of my co-workers, friends, family, and connections could be reading this...

But, I feel I need to write-- and write truth-- just the same.

...and what's more, while this writing is more for me than for anyone else...I am hoping for some advice...some connection...some...one out there.

I ran into a friend yesterday, and we commenced to talking a bout another friend of ours who is going through a difficult time with a boy, and she said something which caught my ear,

"I want to be supportive; I don't mind if she wants to hang out, as long as bitching about him isn't the ONLY reason she wants to hang out with me..."

And all I could think in that moment was, well what if I needed to vent but what I wanted more was your ADVICE...

It's a strange thing, but in my rather large amount of listener/best friend/ fixer of problems and comforter of the sad (now that doesn't sound stuck up, does it- haha) I have found that when people want your advice, your advice is rarely ever what they want. What they NEED and long for is someone who will actually hear them...and so they can hear themselves...because that is, after all, how we recognize the truth-- it's a way to get the other persons point of view...sort of, anyway. In any case, I realized that I really did, for the first time, want advice. But more than that-- when I dug a bit deeper-- what I wanted was connection.

I am a self-proclaimed hermit, it is true. And the last thing in the world most people would think would promote connection, would be to sit down at a computer and type, but...

Well...words seem to touch people. And I need my words to go somewhere.

So I think better than keeping just a journal or diary, or confiding in one friend or another, than turning around to confide about that same friend to another...

I want to write.

I'm sure I will re-read this entry a thousand times and judge it harshly and feel stupid for posting, but as I found in school, writing papers 2 hours before class bagan, my best writing comes through when I just stop THINKING... and let someone else do the editing.

So for now, here I am.

And, until tomorrow...or the next day, or the next,

"Goodnight and good luck," (haha)

~ Genevieve

Here we go again...

So, I am actually leaving Paris this time, today. I had an amazing day yesterday-- instead of doing a walking tour or scrambling together more funds to see this or that, I simply walked back to Montmartre and spent a good 2 and 1/2 hours walking around the graveyard and reading my book. I think it may be the most beautiful place in Paris, actually. And it was the first time I felt at peace in Europe...strange, but true. Haha.

Then I went back up to the steps of the Sacre Cours and sat there, reding, writing, and listening to music for hours.

A very good day.

Now for where to go.

I think I may attempt to walk to Poitier:

I have 19 days to get there. It's only 184 miles...

I realised I had come here for adventure, and all I was doing was going from place to place, miserable, as though my life could end at any moment. Life must be lived full of adventure or it is not living, I think. All I have done is spent money on buses and hostles. But I am carrying a very heavy tent on my back for a reason, and if I wanted the buses, I should have stayed home on the greyhound...after all, I came here for the countryside, did I not?

The other choice is to take the bus down to Aix-en-Provence (if it's even possible, I don't think Eurolines lets you go from city to city within a country, but we'll see today) and walk to Marseille (a mere 33 kilometers away) and then spend a few days one the beach...or go to Barcelona and then to Poitier...

...Or I could just be random about it and go to Germany (a language I actually speak moderately well) or to the Czech Republic...


OR.......................... ?

Well, we'll see. I'm off to the bus and train stations again. Let's see where the road goes, and I'll do my best to follow it...

...or go the other way. ;)

Maybe it's just time for an adventure...eh?

...Who knows when we shall speak again, but all my love,

~ Genevieve

Maybe I'm getting old in my young age...

I am still in Paris. Yep. I'm still here.

I checked on line. There was a bus to Bologna. I was supposed to be on it. The was a bus to Bologna. Departing tonight. At 5pm. Tonight. I checked.

...Online.

But in reality, it apparently only runs every other day.

So here I am.

I spent the entire day, miserable, wandering in the rain. Going from subway station to subway staion. Excuse me, "metro". Asking and re-asking the prices, times, and dates of buses trains, etc.

Crying when I was tired and wet and cold. Searching hotel after hotel when it was apparent I would have to stay the night.

...I won't bore with the details, but eventually I made it back to the hostel I stayed at before-- tonight I will be sharing a room with two lovely girls from Melborne, and pity them having to deal with my cough all night...hope I don't alienate them too much-- and have been happy ever since.

I'm not going to go to Bologna. Not yet.

Since I began my journey, all these relatively aweful, but manageable things have been happening. I have been in a constant state of panic and frustration and homesickness; waiting and holding my breath to MOVE ON to the next place.

I think the world is telling me to slow down.

After all, if I'm not enjoying myself here...than why am I here? I didn't leave a job in the US so that I could just get up and work in Europe...and for no money...did I? Or did I?

When is my vacation?

Growing up, it was always such a foreign concept to me. We didn't really have vacations. We couldn't afford them or there wasn't time, or maybe the fact that my parents were doing what they love the most meant they didn't need a vacation as much...I don't know.

But I want one.

I have decided, that unless something huge changes, I will be going home when my ticket returns on December 2nd, mostly because I have realized something I never thought: I love my friends and my family. Now that sounds harsh and awkward and is not meant to be so, but perhaps what I really mean is that I didn't realise how MUCH I love them.

Until I saw a whole beautiful world and realised none of them were there to share it with.

I like being alone...no, I don't, but it seems to be a preference of sorts and I do value alone time, and NEED it-- it is something I have not had in a while. But I saw the Eiffel Tower last night, and I couldn't point to it and look at Annie and see the smile on her face. I couldn't kiss Michael on the lover's bridge or talk about how we'd love to sing in the Sacre Cour one day with Jenny, or squabble with my sister over who gets the bigger piece of Gateau...

I need these people. I would fight for and hold close all these people who are my friends and family.

Sorry to get mushy, but it has been a bit of a huge revelation.

...in any case, I am staying in Paris. For 2 more days.

I am going to stay in the hostle and pay the 21 Euro per night-- an incredibly cheap price by the way, but still huge for me...if I weren't "on vacation" or on a journey or...me.

I couldn't wait to get out of the city.

So it's time to stay.

And then I'm heading south.

We'll see where the road begins...

Sweet dreams to everyone. I'm thinking of you. All.


...not like Big Brother...

A list of things to note in Paris...France...Europe.

1. Note that when you are in Paris you will spend an exorbitent amount of cash. If you don't you are stupid. Forget the sightseeing ploys for cash. Just wander the streets and eat: Tarts and Quiches and things you will never in you life be able to pronounce. Try everything. I have spent the equivelant of 2 weeks money in 2 days of sightseeing. And I regret none of it...instead I walk.

2. Remember this, ladies: you can wear men's clothing and dress yourself to look like a big puffy no-shape marshmellow and hide all your hair under a hat and attempt to look as relatively celibate and unnatractive as possible. They will still hit on you. But if you are in a tight spot, you cannot run in heels, and you can only fight in them if you train first in Hollywood.

3. The idea for the musical Urinetown came about when one of the writers was in Europe and had the choice between using his last money to use the toilet or buying something to eat. In Europe, you have to pay to pee. You may not like it; protest all you like. It is how it is done here. Now, I have found however, there is a fast-food chain here called Quick (red sign, big white letters). Often their bathrooms are unlocked and unattended. Don't even try McDonald's there is always a guard dog.

4. Every once a month or so the museums here are free. Plan accordingly. I did not.

5. For the cheapest (relatively-- nothing is cheap in Europe) and strongest drinks, go to an Irish pub. They are everywhere and almost always friendly. For the cheapest most filling food, go to the store or go to the Chinatown-- every great city has one. Chinese food is cheap and good.

6. Remember when you journey on a tiny budget that you came to enjoy yourself. It's easy to forget. Oh, and be that person that tips.

7. Everywhere you go in Paris you will see the young people drinking something that is almost a neon red clour in a beer stein. It is a Monaco. It is delicious, cheap, and very sweet, but will not get you drunk. try it anyway. Why not? It's pretty!

8. Everywhere you go there will always be stands serving fresh hot crepes. They are not like the ones in America. They are better.

Until we meet again--

~ Genevieve

I finally found it...

Well, the couple I stayed with did indeed convince me to stay in the hostle and I am truly glad of it. I have decided to buy the bus ticket tomorrow to Bologna...it is only for a week, but what of that? This was supposed to be a trip for pleasure and discovery, was it not? And as Christian, the gentleman whos family I stayed with for the last few days, pointed out in broken English mingled with French, "I think, you do not come here to stay at home and walk these childrens to schools, Non?"



And it is so.



I am glad he took me to this hostle where the sights of Paris are only a 15 walk away, because today, for the first time, I really was IN Paris. Not just in body, but HERE was I. Since I arrived in Europe, I had noticed the beautiful architechture, the amazing tastes and look of these wonderful cities, but all through a fog of homesick and loneliness and...boredom? No, not boredom, but something just as suffocating and mute.



But today I found it. Today I came home.



I had forgotten that St. Genevieve is the patron saint of Paris.

Today I found Montmartre...and my heart found it's resting place. I wandered the streets to Montmartre until I came to the cemitary, and suddenly I was walking with a song in my mouth. Of course I came too late to go in, and thought for a moment how funny it was that most everyone else in the world was trying to avoid ending up in a cemmetary, while I was desperatly searching for the door... I climbed street after street as the sun began to set, warming the beautiful buildings, the streets you dream of when you think of far away France, reminding me just a bit of the hills of San Francisco, but so much more beautiful. I was determined to find a cafe and have one good drink with my book, but I passed by cafe after cafe, the climb itself urging me to climb farther. At one point I almost turned back, but the little voice in my head said-- no, no. You do not want to do that. It is good, but it could be better-- so much better. CGo on and climb the stairs to the upper streets where you might see the sun really setting. And I did.

Somehow, following winding streets and the tops of towers in the distance, i rounded a corner and again, like when I discovered Hyde Park, I came upon the Sacre Cour. Now, they may tell you that Notre Dame is beautiful. It is noisy, advertised, and full of tourists. The Louvre? I went down inside, bought 2 postcards and turned around and went back up, preffering the streets. But this building was truly made for God. And the view from the top of the hill, is more beautiful than you could ever imagine.

People lined the steps below where a man with a guitar was singing Wonderwall with all his heart. I stared at Mother Mary trying desperately not to cough. I wandered more and stared at the Eiffel tower in all it's splendor.

Today I found Paris.

Today I came home.

Bologna... or walk?

I was picked up at an Autostoppe, running away from a kindly, though not all well-meaning Turk. Outside a shop, I stopped to ask a gentleman for directions to Paris, and he just stared at me like I was crazy. The Turk had told me I was in Paris, but in reality I was in Neuilly-Plaisance, a tiny town on the outskirts of Paris, approximately 18 kilometers away.

Eventuallty after some argument over the idea of me walking there, he and his wife invitred me to stay the night. And then the next few nights, so I have been seeing Paris by day, and spending the evenings with an amazingly generous family, with two of the most adorable little girls I have ever met. The children and their Grandmother speak no English and the parents a bit, and I of course speak only a tiny bit of French, but somehow we manage to have amazing conversations together. The Mother, Abigaïl, even went so far as to buy me soy (or soja) milk and yoghurt-- some of the best stuff I have ever tasted! If they could only have stuff like this in America, perhaps I never would have left.

I am very sick now, but we went to the store and, would you believe, medicine here is only the equivelant of $6??? I hope we get Universal healthcare, is all I can say. It would make things soooooo much better!

Today I leave. I was all set to pack my bag and follow train tracks to... wherever, but Abbi and her husband are intent on me staying at least one more night in the city, at a hostel that her husband used to work for. He is going to show me and intends to get me a discount, I think. I don't understand a hundred percent, but we all make due.

However, I just received an e-mail from another host family in Bologna who needs help for a week or two with picking grapes-- this sounds perfect to me, however, the trains, buses, and airtickets are sooo expensive, I wonder if I should... the warmth would do me and my cold all the good in the world, howeevr, so I think there isn't much of a choice...we shall see.

All my love,
~ Genevieve

Goodbye Jack, :( ...Bonjour Paris!

Hitchiking...

Hmmm...hitchiking...

Well, I've done it now. From Amsterdam to Paris: " cars and approximately &- hours (a unusual amount of traffic, so I am told). I am in Paris now.

Despite my previous desire to remain in Amsterdam, I decided it had a bit to much in the way of sex, drugs, and pink-frosted donuts for my taste...I am not a big partier, and I did not appreciate James the super-rasta on the top bunk batting at my covers all night and continually climbing down onto my bed to ask if I wanted a joint. At first I was a bit scared of what was going on... then I learned he had taken some ecstacy and could not sleep. I finally asked him if he wanted my bed. He stared at me a minute and then started to fall asleep on top of my left leg. That's when I moved to the otehr side of the room to sleep underneath Jack's bunk. James muttered something along the lines of, "thank you" and I watched for the next 1/2 hour as he would curl up like a cat and then frantically get up and move to the top bunk, and then repeat the process and moveback down to the bottom...what a night.

I did manage to acquire a minimum of sleep however, and this coupled with the soup from the night before did my throat quite a bit of good. The next morning (I had thought of several possibilities in the long sections of the previous night, when sleep was stolen from me) I had virtually made up my mind to find a road south and either hitch-hike or walk until I found something of interest, but just before check out, Gentleman-Jack (for so he will be hencefiorth knighted by me, proving himself the most gallant of gentleman) stopped me in the hall to enquire what my plans were after all. I told him, but he suggested that I try to sneak on the bus he was on and go to Marseille with him for the grape-picking. He had on more than one occasion (in the 32 hours of our acquantance) proved himself a friend and it was strong in my intuition that he could be trusted, so I said, why not. We spent the rest of the morning getting to know eachother better, but as the time got closer to the great attempt to sneak onto the bus without paying, we both became rather hesitant. I did not wish to get in trouble and preffered as well to keep my honor intact, though there was no possible way I could afford to pay for the ticket myself. He assured me that he had done it many times before and the worst that could befall me was to get kicked back off, but he felt some trepidation none the less, not wishing to get me into a tight spot. We formulated many plans and shared some food, which he kindly bougt for me, without my even asking, but to no avail. He said he would not leave me stranded, but was terrified when I told him my intentions of hitch-hiking were serious. I said he should come with me, as I did not wish to leqve the sqfety of his company and it would be a grand adventure. In the end, he waited with me by the side of the road, until a couple pulled over to give me a ride, just in time for him to run back to the station and catch his bus to Marseille.

I Spent the rest of my night holding my sign "Towards FRANCE, Dank U" and speaking incredible volumes in broken German, English, French, and a minimal amount of some Dutch and Turkish I have acquired in the past 2 days. Never a dull moment...


And today, I am in Paris...a bit faster than I thought, but health dictates where I go now. My choices: to wander/walk/hitch-hike all over France and perhaps Spain, camping where I can, until I meet my friends in Poitier in Octobre, or I can move right on to Marseille, and try to find Jack again, or learn to pick grapes on my own... if only we had exchanged e-mail. It saddens me to think I may never see such a good friend again, when we had only said hello, but that is the way of this life it seems to me-- the friends you make are fast and firm, but the world is always moving, and you must with it go...

Amsterdam, Chinese fodd, and the Red Light District...

Well, I made it to Amsterdam-- and acquired a number of new friends alond the way:

~ Alexandre, the beautiful Brazillian
~ Jack, the dark Englishman off to pick grapes in France
~ James, the Super-Rasta
~Tommy, the chivalrous and gentlemanly Chinese-Brit, with a few weeks off to do...whatever
~ Ugo, the French student with an appetite for Amsterdam and a love of Europe in it's entirity
~ Tandiwe, the elegant German student, also friends with Ugo, and an avid user of Couchsurfing.com
~Murphy, the feline owner of Hostel Tamara, and Taz the wonderful man who runs it for him, while simultaniously spouting amazing impersonations and history of every ethnicity and country of the world...

...It is so expensive here. I have a cold. My throat hurts. I miss home. I was feeling horrid after the bus ride-- I thought Greyhound was bad back at home, but people here are just plain rude, and shove each other and yell at and criticize the driver...we could not get any sleep... I really needed sleep.

However, after a shower, and a drink (kindly bought for me by Jack) and a walk around the canals with Tandiwe and Ugo, I am feeling much more at ease...

Amsterdam, no one I think can deny, is quite amazing, but at this point it looks as though I may be doomed to see the entirity at night, as I fell straight asleep once the hostel rooms were opened and a hot shower was mine.

The boys were quite gentlemanly: Alex had a reservation at the Flying Pig Hostle, but they were all filled, so the boys wandered around with me until we could find something we could all afford to stay at (I was the one with the super-low budget). At one point they even offered to pitch in a few Euros each to help, but we ended up at the Hostel Tamara, a wonderful little place. It was 20 Euro for the night, and did not include breakfast (still way more than I can really afford to spend) but I made the exception, because I knew that to camp out tonight in the health and state I was in when arriving would be a certain trip to the hospital, so I went to the bank and did what must be done.

Later in the evening, sitting on the canal while Ugo partook in the specialties of Amsterdam, and Tandi slowly enjoyed her hand-rolled cigarettes, I realised I had not eaten almost anything today. We ended up in Chinatown, and thinking back to a friends words on the best food to get when you are Vagabonding it on the road, I had a feeling that Chinese soup or noodles would be the only way to avoid spending more 3 or 4 Euros. And it was; we found a take-away shortly and my throat got what it needed, while my stomach was put at ease.

Jack thinks I should follow him down to Marseille where it is warmer to pick olives and grapes and earn a few Euros, (he is on a similar budget to myself) but I feel hesitant to do anything involving money that could be considered illegal. However warmth is sounding nicer, as my funds are quickly being spent and my health is not it's best...

Tandi says that I should become friends with the couchsurfing website, and Ugo thinks I should stay in Amsterdam longer to get a better feel for the city...my pocket doesn't agree, but my desires wish to saty, just for one day more...we shall see what we shall see... Unfortunately I tripped on a part of the street they were mending today, and fell hard on my body...and my camera. I will mend, my camera will not. Perhaps it is just as well...

I must remember to take my time...as it is, I am missing home, but slowly waking up...

Until we speak again,
~ Vieve

Moving On...

Well, i have not seen nearly as much of London as I should or as I would like, but the time has come to move on. I will have to make my way back to England (and London) and take my time with it again, but this stop has been more about recuperation and adjustment than anything.

I woke up this morning with the beginnings of a cold, and perhaps that is what has set this need for movement upon me. As much as I love all the people here, I cannot help but feel an imposition to them if I stay much longer, and all my body seems to want to do in this city is sleep. A 12 hour bus journey and ferry ride should cure me of that, and the need to take care of myself, rather than having everyone around caring for my every need, coupled with a sufficient decrease in heavy, warm, home-cooked meals should help in abating the sloth-like quality I have shrouded round myself.

My hosts are condemning me for all the things I haven't seen or done, and off I go, but I can't seem to get my feet here in London...and this city makes me lonesome and homesick in a way that is dangerous to my health...I need a distraction...I need Amsterdam.

Originally I had thought to go over to Ireland, but the fact that I am already sick from the cold and it isn't even winter yet, shows me that I need to move on to the mainland and save the best for last...though the thought surely does sadden me; every time i see or hear of Ireland, I feel a pull and a calling home...

...But home should be at the end of a journey, not at the beginning, and tonight at 8pm I board a bus for Dover, then a ferry across, then the ride up to Amsterdam. It only makes me sad that i will not be able to see in daylight the beautiful white cliffs of Dover, but traveling by day does not agree well with my head or my stomach, and it was a special they were having on the National Express (see Greyhound for an American equivalent). They call buses ''coaches'' here, so I am traveling by coach-- the cheapest way to go in any country-- and when I checked prices for all possible schedules, this particular time and route to Amsterdam had one ticket left at the ''Funfare'' price; meaning that all of it cost me only £22 including the insurance and fees, etc. more than half the price of the other tickets for the same route...


...so here I go again...wish me luck in Amsterdam...

...And for all of you who worry, don't be if I do not write for a bit, as I do not know when i will have a computer near me again...

Proms in the Park...

So, late starts being what they are, last night I went out for another walk, this time without quite the same intention of actually trying to get to a particular destination, in hopes that if I had no destination, I was less likely to get lost...

Donna had suggested I try the other direction (the direction I had accidentally sort of ended up in from the night before) and shoot for Hyde Park. I did. Wandering for a bit here and there, taking pictures, mostly of doors. I swear they are going to think I am a daft tourist, walking around taking picture after picture of entry ways and balconies, but I have fallen in love with London architecture...or, at least, its doors which seem to be an art form unto themselves.

Eventually, I wandered down a beautiful street, twisting and turning through the dark night, when all of a sudden it hit my ears: music... Opera flowed over me, and I was in heaven-- the perfect soundtrack to the perfect night...I had all but given up on Hyde park, and the beautiful voice was calling me so, that there was nothing to do for it but follow...I turned a corner, and-- lo and behold-- a stretch of green opened in front of me covered in trees and absolutely FILLED with music...Hyde Park.

Turned out the BBC was having the last night of what they called 'Proms in the Park' where all sorts of famous-- and not so famous-- musicians and singers and bands performed, both live and broadcast from all over Europe for us to hear, live on the screen. By the time I made my way up to the gate where a hundred people stood, watching and listening and camping from outside the fenced off concert, the diva had finished and they had moved on to an amazing gypsy violinist, someone by the name of, ''Garret...David Garret or...something'' according to the gentleman next to me. Next up were 3 songs performed right in front of us by the incomparable José Carreras! And on and on...amazing...

Eventually, I wandered off to hunt for the perfect British pub... I found it, although by the time I did they were all but closing again; I had myself a cider, which felt like it had no alcohol til you tried to stand up, and read a good 3 chapters of my book...the perfect evening...

.....So, now, finally, I am off to see the city (in daylight, for once). All government-owned British museums are free to the public, and rather than spending almost £20 for a tour bus, I am going to spend only £3.50 for the double decker bus all-day pass, and take the tour buses map with me to show myself around...we'll see how it goes this time around...

Until then,
~ Vieve

Rule No. 1 - Never take a shortcut in London

Well, darn it all if I did not sleep the day away again, yesterday...luckily my hosts did too. However, while they were all up partying til all hours again, I was wandering around the city...lost. I did manage to go for a heck of a walk, though...the lesson learned? Never take a shortcut in London. It won't work.

All in all I had a good time, I'd say-- never managed to find a pub, because, by the time I got un-lost and made my way to Piccadilly Circus, the pubs had all shut down, and what cafes and discos were open were literally covered in attractive, stylish youths dressed in their finest, drinking and making tons of noise...I didn't quite fit in. One guy on the street pointed at me as I passed, in my down vest and hoody, and heavy black pants and said, ''What, is she from Alaska, or something?''

(...It made me shudder to be even a state's reference closer to Sarah Palin, thank you, though I know very well he was only talking about my clothes).

In any case, not my crowd. So eventually I made it back to the 'home' area...4 hours later...and proceeded to wander in circles for an hour, before I finally asked a rickshaw driver to point me in the right direction and found the house that was mine...

Yes, it would appear I am still directionally challenged, though perhaps that may be of use to me on this journey...eventually.

In any case, I had been meaning to get to be at around 12am or sooner, but as it happened, I did not crawl in bed til well after 3am, and then proceeded to stay awake until light was coming through the windows again. So, 4pm comes round and, oh, no, not again!

Saturday morning, London, nearly 6:00am...

6:00am...I always say actions are better than words...

Hello London, goodbye Tube...yes, I am staying near Madonna & all sorts of other famous folks...like Sherlock Holmes...of course, he's busy right now...

Good morning, Jeeves...yes, I'll take my tea now.
(I want Jeeves on my computer)

...he winks at you too... ;)

London...doors are amazing here...

Window shopping in London is in-tents...(like camping, haha)...

Friday

Well, at this point I'm not sure what to do... The festivities of last night left us all sleeping in til all hours today; now the girls are going out, dressed to the 9's and reminding me of my days in Seattle when I used to go to the club with the boys, but their adventures are far too steep for my purse. I think, perhaps, I am a bit scared to go out too: I'll actually have to talk to people. Well, not have to, but spending £5 to go to the pub and sit there reading my book isn't the most exciting idea in the world. I wonder, though, why I feel I HAVE to g out and have the Euro-experience. I think if I have even 1 Guiness right now, I'll fall pat asleep. So, maybe a quiet night of a cup of tea somewheres and a few chapters of Game of Thrones could be just what I need. I don#t want to be out all night partying anyways, as I intend to rise early tomorrow, strap on my bags, and see the city (like I was planning on doing today, before we all had our fun last night, til 5 in the morning.

Apparently I eat meat again-- I'm not pleased about it, but in England it's a bit hard to get around it, it seems. And I don't want my hosts going to any more trouble than they already are for me. And Donna was right-- Irish sausages really do taste different. And their steak sauce here tastes a bit like Teryaki mixed with Worcestershire...good though.

When I look into the mirror, I can't help but notice, I think I'm starting to look like my Mother...it's the cheek bones. You can actually see them which means I must be losing weight, although I don't know how that possible with the amounts and kinds of amazing food everyone has been feeding me since I left home.

It's only my second day abroad, but the loneliness has settled in already...perhaps that's why i don't feel like leaving my room. I love all the accents here; I love listening to the way people speak...but there was a moment in the morning when I suddenly realized that I couldn't hear a voice that spoke like me...and I became frantic to hear it, for a second...I've already picked up some sort of British/Irish mix to my pronunciation; afraid to be an American, or just adapting to my surroundings; making others feel at ease...or myself. It's not on purpose. It just happens.

I am here. I am in Europe. What am I doing here?

...guess I'll have to find out. Guess I should go have a drink...and read my book. Guess I should go for a walk...

Good morning London!

London...I am in London. I am staying in a mansion flat, 3 blocks from where Madonna lives. I am tipsy. It is 11:47 at night here, and 3pm in Portland, Oregon and I am staying with 4 Irish women who are brilliantly amazing.

They are teaching me how to drink; my glass is never empty but it is full again; my plate is never finished but I am asked if I need something to nibble on. And I am in heaven. These are the women that truly run the world; these are the women that plays and books and the entire literary world was built upon. There is never an end to their jokes and Do you remembers and oh! hush! I was only joking! haha!

These are women who know you are family the moment you walk in the door.

They are teaching me to talk and be heard; they can always hear everything. You will say something barely audible, while 5 people are talking all at once haveing 3 different coversations, and 10 minutes later, Magella or Donna or Celine or Lorraine will turn to you and, without missing a bit, answer your remark and turn the conversation your way, while, simultaneously, another of them turns to you to start a new one...and amazingly enough, I can follow them all...

I am truly in awe of and in love with these women. I can only hope to be like them one day; they are fantastic and caring and it's just who they are!

They have explained to me that easygoing is an Irish word for...well, easygoing, but I still can't figure out what crack or cracked seems to be reffering to, but it is used quite often.

...I think I may move to Ireland... ;)

Some Substance for the Soul

ON A JOURNEY

"Don't be downcast, soon the night will come,

When we can see the cool moon laughing in secret

Over the faint countryside,

And we rest, hand in hand.

Don't be downcast, the time will soon come

When we can have rest.

Our small crosses will stand

On the bright edge of the road together,

And rain fall, and snow fall,

And the winds come and go."

~ Herman Hesse

New York, New York...

Despite all the turbulence - physical and otherwise - from our very long plane ride, the moment I stepped off, I felt...well, almost at ease. I was not, per say, smiling, but my fear of what would happen to me or being stuck in the rain or having my things stolen or murdered in a small alley left me. I felt a bit ridiculous, really.

JFK is just an airport. New York is just a city and every city has it's dangers. I had faith that I would be just fine. Actually, it's this sort of underlying knowledge that I will always be just fine that seems to keep me from really bad situations. Dogs smell fear. So do wasps. So do people. So be not afraid, and there is nothing to fear...sometimes.

In any case, after leaving the airport, I just kept asking more and more people where the streets were I was looking for and does the J train go to here or where does the Airtrain connect to the subway and eventually, I got where I needed to go.

My friend Wayne, who I had not seen since college in Seattle, was so welcoming. He and his roommates asked me about my plane ride and, while I took a shower, they made me some Ramen.

---Here I will interject myself. I have been trying to play catch-up (not the red kind) on this blog for some days now. San Francisco happened days ago, as did my arrival in NYC. But there seems to be so much to do and so little time to do it in, that re-counting every move I make is not working very well, nor, I think, wise. So, the gist of it is, I had an amazing time with Wayne and Jason and Brett and Andrew, all of whom I have not seen since my Seattle days. I eventually found my Uncle Stephen and Aunt Rebecca (my Godparents) and have had a wonderful time, and yesterday I was able to meet with the 'King of Backpackers,' Captain-pirate extraordinaire, Wade from vagabondsong.com. These major events aside, I am now forced to consolidate my NY adventures into the following list of points:

THINGS I LEARNED IN NEW YORK

1. Strawberries, brown sugar, and sour cream may be the best breakfast in the history of the world.

2. A Beard Papa is not an old immigrant man with white hair waiting for Christmas holidays to come so he can play Santa Claus, but rather a fresh cream puff that they fill with vanilla custard the moment you order it. And they are good.

3. No matter how many times you've asked, or how many people at the many branches of your bank have assured you that your debit card is on the way, it is not going to be there until you have canceled your old card. Your bank likes your money. Why would they want you to go around spending it, hmmm?

4. Fedex overnight really is overnight. Good job fedex. Thank you Michael.

5. I am now an official Princess of backpackers and rock-pirate of Central Park.

6. No matter how old you are, your Godparents will always treat you like a Princess.

7. My metal water bottle makes me feel safe at nigh walking down dark streets.

8. Never try to change a $50 bill in Brooklyn. It won't happen. Not even if you try to buy stuff.

9. If the word "exit" is printed anywhere on the sign for the subway line you want, you actually do have to exit. It will not change tracks just for you...hmmmm...

10. My metal water bottle can hold an entire bottle of wine or Cava and looks inconspicuous when walking through parks.

11. My metal water bottle keeps beer cold.

12. Don't let your friends put alcohol in your water bottle, unless you want to smell and taste it for days thereafter.

13. There is a bar in Brooklyn where, on Sundays, if you buy a drink, they will give you a poker chip, and you can eat for free at the BBQ in the back. They even have veggie burgers there. Yay for me!

14. You can survive on a very small budget here, if you are willing to eat fresh bagels and cream cheese (or tofu cream cheese) every day.

15. Hummus only costs $2.50 per container here-- wow! .....Crackers cost $5.00 a box...damn.

16. The Brooklyn bridge may be my new favorite place, ever, in the world. ...and I actually kind of like the subway...don't judge. (Not the tunnels, just the train).

17. Yes, the accents really do sound like that. It's not just the movies.

18. Yes, Hassidic Jewish men really do wear long black coats and large-brimmed hats, and have the curly-que hairs And abound in NYC. It's not just the movies. (And, apparently, the women shave their heads and wear amazingly convincing wigs instead).

19. Anywhere else in the USA is a muted and washed out version of some section of New York.

and last, but not least...

20. New Yorkers are some of the friendliest and most interesting people I have ever met. If you ask, they will help.

...I thought I would hate New York, it's smells, and loud noise, and dark tunnels and alley ways...but I think, one day, I may actually have to call it home. There is something so beautiful about this city, specifically because of all it is...However, tonight I leave for England...and a whole new adventure begins...

Stormy Weather...

"Don't know why

There's no sun up in the sky;

Stormy weather.

Since my man and I ain't together,

It's rainin' all the time..."

Shortly after boarding, we were told we would be taking off momentarily.
Two minutes later, the engines died. The pilot came on the loudspeaker and informed us we were to stay where we were and wait for the next 40 minutes, as the the weather in NYC was very dangerous at the moment and they had a no go.

We waited. Everyone on the flight, despite the captain's request, wanted to get off the plane, let their children run rampant, screaming up and down the aisles, and complain. (This was a theme that continued through the duration of the flight, to the point that I thought our stewardess was going to have a hernia).

Eventually we took off and, despite some bouts of turbulance, the smell of the toilets whafting over the back wall to my seat (nw I know why people really don't like to sit in the back of the plane), and a woman who insisted on standing every time the seatbelt sign came on or one of the staff made an announcement to stay in our seats, it went alright. Even enjoyable-- I had two lovely women next to me who were eager to share their magazines, gum, and starburst candies with me at every turn. That is, until we got past Lake Eerie.

Suddenly there were clouds-- LOTS of clouds. It was quite beautiful, really: a thick cover above us, like a cieling, the blue of the sky next to us, and below, tier after teir of cloud raining onto one another. Amazing. And then the pilot came on.

"Folks, we've just got word that the hurricane has not exactly subsided in New York. We ave been asked to hold a flight pattern here above the ground. Now, we have plenty of fuel to get us through this, but it may take up to 40 minutes or more...We'll let you know if anything changes."

And so, I proceeded to watch on our aerial map as our plane went round and round in circles for a good hour and a half; sun bursting out when we turned back westward, and clouds and turbulance the closer we got to the East, until...

"Folks, we are running rather dangerously out of fuel, now. Now, I understand that things are clearing up a bit around JFK, but, unfortunately, we do not have wnough fuel to get there, so we will be diverting this flight to Syracuse, where we will re-fuel, and try to get you there as soon as possible. Thanks."

Chaos.

Eventually, after our landing in Suracuse, with the plane skidding and leaning dangerously to the leftm over and over, we DID re-fuel, and proceeded to wait for about another 1/2 hour. When we finally got back in the air, no one wanted to stay in their seats. We flew for another hour, once having toi go past JFK, to let other planes in line ahead of us, get their turn to land. While everyone mumbled, and the stewardesses yelled, I fell asleep again. And tried not to think of the fact that I would now be arriving in NYC in the dark. With possibly nowhere to go. I figured, if worst came to worst, I would stay at the airport.

Eventually we landed; everyone applauded, and filed out. I found my bag (thank you, it WAS on the same flight) and found a pay phone. Wayne answered, and after a few hang-ups due to insufficient funds, the New York subway system and I bacme well aquainted.

Brooklyn. Oh, Brooklyn. How dark and dank and frightening you are;p but I know you now, and I am not afraid of you. (Ha. Ha. What a lie). But I am not afraid to survive in you, and I suppose that is who I am. New York-- Brooklyn at night, in particular, is a terrifying thing and with good reason. But there are other cities, just as dangerous-- perhaps more so becasue no one realises that the are. And, eventually, I found friends, and all was quite well. I am continually impressed by the kindness of friends and strangers. I am also amazed by the ignorance of people, and the fear I am learning to notice that lies behind so many of us and our choices in life. Much of New York is not beautiful: It smells, it is stained, it is dark and violent and harsh and ugly... but I don't have to be anyone here. I can melt into the pavement, and somehow I feel at home. Free, even. I think I may be falling in love with the things I thought I hated most. New York disgusts me...and I want more.

Gone...gone...gone...

"Life has got a habit of not standing hitched.

You got to ride it like you find it.

You got to change with it."

~ Woody Guthrie

Well, it has been quite a while since I have written, and not a moment has been dull. It seems that the fates want me to get where I am going, safely, but are intent on letting me know it will not be easy. Where to begin?

Well...first there was the incident with the bus: Michael was supposed to meet me on the bus in Medford to continue on down to San Francisco. The schedules matched. It should have worked. It didn't. I waved goodbye to my Mother, said, "I love you," one last time, and stepped on board. No Michael. He had called me to say he was boarding the bus, earlier that evening, so he should have been there, but he wasn't. I panicked. What if he bought his ticket for San Francisco instead of Vallejo? What if he got the times wrong? What if he got on the wrong bus, or was 2 minutes too late?! ...I spent most of the rest of the drive from Medford to Redding consumed by these thoughts, with no music, no book to take me out of myself, next to a half passed-out gentleman in the window seat next to me smelling distinctly of alcohol, the aftermath of cheap food having been processed, and old and possibly not yet realised vomit. I mercilessly fell asleep for a 1/2 hour and awoke covered in sweat with the gentleman resting on my shoulder. I was afraid if I took off my down jacket and vest they would come back with little bits of extra attached, so I stayed in my seat, and tried not to cry...In the meantime, the bus driver seemed intent on devouring every morsel of the road at a speed I should have relished, given my present state, but when it came to going down mountainsides and around corners bordered by cliffs in the almost total darkness (I knew this part of the road well), I could only shudder and convince myself that if it was my time to die, I hoped everyone knew that I loved them.

...When we arrived in Redding, we were informed we were about 1/2 an hour early. (Oooh! Big surprise). And as I got off, I asked if there was a pay ohone in the area. Unfortunately, I had no change and nothing was open. A very nice gentleman named Leo, whom I and my Mother had shared some good conversation with while waiting to enter the bus, came round and, after explaing my plight, he assured me that there were probably two busses on the same route, and one way or the other I would find Michael, at some point. I went to our driver, and Leo's theory proved to be correct. The other bus, however, was known for being late and so would not show up for some time. I asked if I might be able to transfer to the bus my boyfriend was most assuredly on, but the new bus driver coming on duty said I should wait to make sure he was there, which, indeed, he was. However, when I asked to have my bags transfered with my person, I was greeted with a short, "Sacramento. You'll get it in Sacramento."

I didn't like it. Apparently my bag didn't either. In the long and short of it, after MUCH, MUCH questiong in Sacramento, (but no bag-- the other bus driver had already come and gone) I was assured it would arrive with me in Vallejo, so Michael and I spent the interim, waiting to change busses, eating Candy Corn & Chips w/ hummus; him teaching me how to play Sudoku-- a new fettish of mine, now.

But of course, we arrived in Vallejo, with no bag in sight.

I was tired. I was frusterated, and very dehydrated. And I was freaking out. The woman behind the counter proceeded to tell me there was nothing they could do, not even call Sacramento to see if my bag was still there, while the young man next to her proceeded to pull out his cell phone and start texting, while answering the other phone. I got angry. So I lied.

I told them what had happend. I told them, I knew it was not their fault, but I was frusterated. And then I told them that I had medication in my bag, and if I didn't get it within the next 4 to 6 hours, I would be in the hospital. I said that I would sue them. Now, undserstand, I don't like lieing. But I have worked in the service industry, in many forms, for almost my entire life. And I know when people don't care. I know when someone hates their job. But I also know that when the words, "hospital," "sue," and "your company" are heard, people pay attention. And it worked. It still took a number of phone calls, some not-so alligator tears, and having to tell them that, no, I would not go home and wait for them to call me, I was staying here until either my bag showed up or they had to call an ambulance (hoping that the former would happen soon before my 6 hours were up). Eventually they tracked my bag to Oakland-- Michael had thought ahead and asked them to contact the next possible stops for all the buses on this route as well as the previous ones-- and someone, somewhere switched it to go back to Vallejo. It arrived intact, and only slightly bruised. I gave them my Dogoba choclate bar as thank you for the phone calls (and the text messages and online game-time we had cost them). When someone works hard for you, you must learn to say thank you, and mean it. I meant every bit of it.

Eventually we met up with y best friend, Becky; were showered with hugs, orange juice, hot showers (haha), and clean clothes, and went on to see my family.

I had forgotten California. I had forgotten the pace. When you think the transit system in Portland is efficient, boy-o go to the Bay Area. Your mind will be blown. Here they dont follow the streets, they go above them; faster than freeways, and just as expensive: $5.05 got us a one-way ticket to Fremont from Pleasant Hill. Where we spent some wonderful time with Uncles and Aunts; Granma and ity-bits who are not so ity any more. Good food. Good talk. Wonderful, wondeful to see family.

The following night, we were thrown a party by my dearest friends, the Weiss family. We had stayed with and were generously hosted by Evan, their son (and a great friend from my middle school years) and Becky, my bestest (also since middle school), who are now love birds, nesting in a gorgeous little town house in Pleasnt Hill-- (a future I predicted way back when I was 14, and I am glad it has come to fruition). Evan's mother, father, and sister have been like a second family to me, and I was so blessed to be able to see them all again, along with so many other friends and loved ones. Unfortunately, only one night was alloted us, and we soon had to pack up again and rise early in the morning, when I was to depart for the Big Apple...alone.

I had no idea where in New York I was going to go. I had only once or twice been able to connect with my friends who I was supposed to stay with while my Godfather was out of town, and had no address, no phone, and no idea of where I was going or if I could even stay there...but I was going to arrive in New York City at 6:00 at night...and I was terrified.

Thank God for hurricanes, eh? (ha.Ha.)

Moving, slowly, Southward...

" 'Tis but a banging of the door behind you, a blithesome step forward, and you are out of the old life and into the new! Then some day, some day long hence, jog home here if you will, when the cup has been drained and the play has been played, and sit down by your quiet river with a store of goodly memories for company. "

~ Kenneth Grahame,
The Wind in the Willows



...I am peaceful. I have not felt so free or happy in a very long time. In the back of the head and the pit of the stomach, there is still the ever-constant flutter, reminding me that the excitement is not done yet; this is the quiet before the storm, if anything. But, sitting in my Mother's house, staring out the glass doors at the multitude of chaotic and will overgrowth that is the backyard, I am so much at peace, I cannot help but smile, continually.

I have felt this same sort of peace and safety on days when my father has invited me to his house to sit in the backyard or read a book, and breathe-- everything just sort of stops, and listens. A safe-haven from the rushing and seeming-dangers and urgency of everyday life. I am wondering, now, how much of it is the peace of my Mother's house, and the love and tender care of my Mother, and how much of this will become my new state of living: always the flutter of excitement and adventure, coupled with a relaxed peace...

But for now, we are just happy to see eachother and hug each otehr often, and take in the time with each other, and the beautiful, beautiful scenery...

...Going...

"AFOOT and light-hearted, I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose.
Henceforth I ask not good-fortune—I myself am good fortune;
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,	5
Strong and content, I travel the open road.
The earth—that is sufficient;
I do not want the constellations any nearer;
I know they are very well where they are;
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.	10
(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens;
I carry them, men and women—I carry them with me wherever I go;
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them;
I am fill'd with them, and I will fill them in return.)"

~ Walt Whitman, Song of the Open Road

Go...

So, let go,let go

Jump in

What are you waiting for?

~ Frou Frou

...I leave the day after tomorrow. I have no way to play music. That means I'll have to work on playing my penny whistle, I guess, like the week I couldn't afford to pay the power bill and all I did was play guitar by candlelight and cook macaroni on a camping stove in the living room with Connor. I have no time to buy clothes. I guess I'll have to wear my own...

...I leave the day after tomorrow...and I haven't said goodbye. I miss my cell phone. I miss my friends more. I don't have any more time or words to say to them...Many of them, I think are or will be angry because I have not had the time to say goodbye...

...I am leaving the day after tomorrow...I am terrified. Freedom is scaring me. Not hunger or danger or nowhere to sleep or back problems. Freedom.

And...oh, my God...I'm leaving the day after tomorrow...

Today, Walt Whitman is saving my life.

3 days left, and...What was your name?

My mind is gone. Kaput. (Is that really how you spell that?) I am anxious. Soooo anxious. I hhave one more day left at my job after this and my patience is wearing thin--not the job itself or the people there, but the people on the other end of the phone I am answering...I like to have the best of faith in people; no matter what. I really do. But a few of the TA's who call us some of the most unbelieveable people in the world: rude, insulting, and sometimes just plain ignorant and - apparently - unintelligent. I thought pleasing people in the theatre audience was hard. Man! (I apologize for letting off steam...but I must not be too sorry, because I'm not going to delete it...). ;)

...In any case, I am fidgeting in my seat. In just a few days, I have completely gone from nervous, unsure, and terrified to-- "ahhhh! I can't wait! Get me the hell out of here!" ...Or almost... I am going to miss Michael, very much. And my friends. And my family... I had some friends over the other night, and made everyone dinner to say goodbye. And as Annie-- one of my best of friends-- was leaving, she kept hugging me (now, I never object to hugs, especially Annie's because she gives particularly good hugs), but, while she was doing this, I kept thinking, "it's ok. You don't have to make such a big deal about it; it's just a goodbye, it's not like I don't love you anymore, or something." It wasn't until about 10 minutes after she left, that it suddenly hit me, "Oh...my god...I don't actually know when I'm gonna get a hug from her again...oh, no..." Not good. I have a tendancy to be a bit slow on the pick-up. Even a bit more than a bit slow. I'm going to miss her so badly, it's aweful.

The same thing keeps happening with Michael: almost every morning I have woken up to him kissing my forehead, or holding me. It's all well and good for us to say, "oh, eventually, hopefully, if we are still right for each other when we see eachother again, we can fall in love all over again!" But...I never realised how much I actually love him, until this last month or so...it doesn't mean that everything works all the time. But I love him. I never saw how much he actually cares about me, until recently-- knew it, instinctively, but didn't get it. And I'm leaving in 3 days. For a very long time...

...And, in truth, I don't know that I will be coming back to Portland. It's just a place. How many otherplaces are there to experience...although, I suppose, that's exactly why I'm leaving now...


I keep wanting to buy the chocolate coffee thing that miss Young makes special for me downstairs...but it costs $5 (including tip-- never skip on tip because you can't 'afford it', by the way! Yes, this is coming from a waitress, but it's true. If you can't afford to tip, you can't afford to buy it. Period.) and $5 is another day of camping. So I have to replace it with boxed mashed potatoes-- helped out by some dill-mustard thrown in to cover up the god-aweful taste, and a $0.75 soda if I absolutely must have caffiene...I hate soda. (Except root beer...but, of course, they don't have it). I feel good, though, for every dollar I do not spend. And that continues to make me save. I thought I had lost that ability some time ago.

I am, however, wondering what to do about Sallie Mae... I had been given a $2500 loan years ago when I was in college. I was stupid. I didn't pay attention to it-- didn't think I would end up spending only 1 year at Cornish-- but I did. And, though I half-assedly tried to contact them 3 or 4 times over the last few years, I never got very far. Well...one week before I am about to leave on my 6 month- 2 year journey, with no income and, "no ties to anything," guess who should come a-kocking... well... duh. I know when I have been stupid, and I have been spineless and stupid in this matter-- hoping that, if I didn't say anything, maybe it would just go away. Now, I have almost enough to pay off the whole thing right now. I do. If I choose to give them all the money I have earned over the past...however many months (It feels like years) of working 3 jobs every week, and saving as much as I can and selling all my possessions... I would be free. It would feel so good to realize I don't owe ANYTHING to ANYONE... (except, of course, the astronomical fee I probably owe to the Seattle Public Library in over-due book fines... or the $200 hospital bill that the nurse told me I wouldn't be charged mecause of my miniscual income, but they charged me anyway, and I convinced myself I couldn't afford to pay...hmmm...). But, if I give them every last dollar I have, I will arrive in London without a dollar to my name, except my father's money (which I do not want to use, except in barest necessity) and will most likely be turned away at the gate for insufficient funds...

Thereau says, "If you are ready to leave behind father and mother, and wife and child and friends, and never see them again,—if you have paid your debts, and made your will, and are a free man, then you are ready for a walk."

Well, I thought I was, but the truth will out, no matter how you run or hide or pretend, and pay the bills I must. My friends said, "oh, it's not that much, just let it go to collections. You'll be fine in 7 years..." But it will not go to collections, but my parents, and that is something I refuse to let happen. Not to mention, I would be breaking my word-- when one signs their name, they make a promise, and whether I took it seriously or not, I made a promise. You cannot be someone of your word if you can vouch on any promise...I believe. And I'm trying hard to remedy those things in my life that i have shoved for so long under the bed and into the depths of the closet worthy of House of Leaves. So...the only thing I can think of is to call up Sallie Mae and throw myself on their mercy. Let them know I intend to pay. Let them know that my parents cannot. Let them know that i will have no income, but will find a way to honor my will. If they will accept as little as $10-25/ month, I can tighten my belt until I come home, and find work wherever it lurks...unfortunately I fear it will be under-the-table sort, and that rubs me a bit the wrong way...I do not wish to be deported. However, I refuse to give up my journey, and I firmly believe that where there is a will, there is a way. I have, indeed, accomplished great things, when i have given into my stubborn nature, and refused to take no for an answer... we shall see.

I have almost everything I need now-- I better, since my departure is only days away. I must, however, get to a phone asap, or I will spend my first nights in NYC on the street, instead of the welcoming arms of my friends. It does not do to call up one month and say, "hey! I'm coming to visit! Can I stay with you?" And then not speaking to them again until 2 months later, when you show up on their doorstep. This communication thing is the bain of my existance, and therefore, I am sure, the most important lesson in my life to embrace...

Also clothing... for as much as I love clothes, I hate buying them. I hate the money; I hate the fact that nothing is ever remotely in my size. Bt there's nothing but to DO it. And so, I shall...although when, I have no idea.

There is NO time left. Really. There are at least 10 people who want to see me, 10 more I want to see and haven't contacted yet, and 10 people I need to call and have 2-hour long conversations with that I can't...or don't want to... afford. (Exasperated sigh!) So at the moment, in these remaning few hours, my life is nothing but chaos, anxiety, sleep-deprevation, and caffiene...

But, one way or another, I leave on Saturday, just before midnight...and God, goddess, spirit, or earth-- help me. And I will help myself.

Hot Air...

This is in a bit of a different vain than my other posts have been, but I think it is necessary and something that has bothered me for quite some time. I hope that at least a few people read this and respond, but I don't even know if there is anybody out there listening. In any case:

I read this article ( http://lifestyle.msn.com/your-life/bigger-picture/articlewow.aspx?cp-documentid=9299812&GT1=32001) today.

It is a discussion, of sorts, between a number of famous women, that stemmed from a family expecting their 18th child and whether or not their should be a limit. Most of them said one thing or another about over-population, people's rights to as many children as they like, and the subject of using up all the planets resources. This makes me angry. It's not that I do not agree that we need to do something about overpopulation. Or that I am unaware of the desperate and horrifying condition that our wildlife, our forest, our waters, inded, our entire planet (and therefore, even our universe) is in. Quite the contrary: I am infuriated and ashamed and terrified by it. You think that it will end with our planet? If our planet is destroyed, do you think that is the end of that? My God! When has a large disaster never affected 20 million other things around it? If our planet violently disappears, have you ever thought how that could throw things out of balance in the solar system? If it affects our solar system, could it not also affect others? (But of course, why should we care if we won't even be around to see it, right?)

Now, I am well aware I am speaking in total ignorance. I have no idea in the realms of physics, sience, math, evolution, whatever, if anything will change if we just disappear, taking our planet with us. Why does it really matter, anyways? As long as we get what we want until we die, why should it matter? Right? But really now. I am getting off track. What frusterates me-- and I am full guilty of this as well-- is the talk. All the hot air and soapboxing and what have you. All the righteous liberals who 'care' for the world...in words. It's not the ignorant bastards who make me angry. The people who say, what problem? Or, 'Oh, that's just a bunch of B.S. There's nothing wrong with our planet; trees will grow back. Oil is more important." These people are ignorant, but they are upfront about it. No. What angers me, after growing up in a liberal family, spending my life surrounded by people in the theatre-- most of whom are very 'earth conscious' and also liberal-- and currently living in Portland, Oregon-- hippy-town; recycle-ville-- are all these people who recognize the problem, will spend hours talking about how the fundamentalists should wake up and go to...well, wherever it is they go, and talk. And talk. And talk. And taaaallllk.

We talk. That's great. How many people that you know, who worry about over-population chose to have kids? How many people that you know, who will spend 2 hours on the oil problems and the Bush administration, still drive their cars to work? I am one of these people, too. (No, I don't have kids or drive a car, but I have many other sins to the survival of this planet, that I willingly commit when no one is looking). I am a great talker, too-- as you can see. The point, my friends (whoever you are) is not to make anyone wrong. The point is, it's all well and good to say that the enemy drives an SUV and goes to church with their anti-abortion flags heald high, and leaves their computer and lights on 24/7... but what are you doing about it? Oh, you recycle...good for you. What next? Oh, you ride your bike? Very good. It is. ...so what? Unless we stop ALL cars (which, by the way, were invented to solve the problem of horse manure filling the streets), find NEW ways of communication and lighting our evenings and, whatever else, and learn to find an agreeable solution to the number of people multiplying in this world (that begins with ourselves), we are all doomed. So what are you going to do about it?

A lot of people have already given up-- saying it's inevitable that we will all parish, and what does it matter, cuz we desrve it, right? The animals and trees, etc. if any survive, will grow back. And they'll be better off without us. Well congratulations. Giving up is the easiest of choices. God forbid someone cared enough to get their hands dirty, instead of giving up or spending even 2 more minutes talking...

We are, supposedly, a species above all others because we can think right? Our brains and some guy up in the clouds saying, "I choose you, Peekachu" makes us better and smarter than every other species on the planet, right? (Note: none of the other, 'less intelligent' species are the ones destroying the plant...but we're smarter...hmmm...). Well, fine. Then let's use some grey matter, eh?

I (little old me, of no fame and very little consequence) am declaring a challenge. To all the talkers out there. Myself included. Two months should be sufficient time, I think. So, lets say...October 31st? By October 31st, anyone who has ever read this blog, must come up with 3 ideas; 3 good and original ideas. Ideas on what we can do now to save the planet. It's that simple. Oh! and how to promote them and present them, too. I don't mean replacements for things we already have; I don't mean-- make a law that everyone must recycle-- let's try a little harder, ok? I mean stopping, I mean a real change: let's think outside the box, and then outside the area around the box. Let's stop the so-called 'inevitable' destruction of planet earth and the human race and every other species in this world, except the cockroaches.

Let's remind the world what we are known for: genius. So, here's the:

CHALLENGE:

1. To come up with 3 good ideas that the world can put into practice immediately that will aid in the rescue of the planet, the human race and all other species of plant and animal life in this world.

2. Along with these 3 ideas, there should be included at least 1 name or organization to present these to, who will-- if won over-- be able to help to get the ball rolling and the is ideas out there.

DEADLINE:

1. On the 31st of October, 2008 all entries should be submitted. By November 2nd, 2008 I will post all the ideas on my blog. We can expand upon them, work on them, point out the problems with them and the good points, and decide a deadline for taking action and who to go to.


Any takers? Think I'm being rediculous? Too scared to take responsibility for yourself and the planet? Or isn't life of every kind and this entire world worth a litlle bit of thought? Isn't it worth it...?


~ Vieve

The Last of my Days...

"It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful. There is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power."
~ Alan Cohen

I am now in the very last week before I take my first steps into this new world of mine: a world of leisure and hard work; of wanderings and ramblings and who knows...Woody Guthrie songs keep popping into my mind, but I fear I am romancing the idea of this adventure too much. There are other things, I know...like having to go to the bathroom in the woods; blisters on my feet and sore shoulders; long days of loneliness in the middle of nowhere, but even these thoughts are beginning to stir something in me-- a challenge.

I have begun a transformation. It is not the kind of change I would excpect anyone else to notice, but rather only something that my mirrored reflection in the morning, or the windows on the street as I pass, can show. The gradual recognition of the move into the next phase of my life and the next me...They say that, something like every 7 years, you become a new person-- literally. All your original cells have been replaced by new ones and you have become something completely new. Well, perhaps my changes are solely interior and brain-related; and, then again, perhaps I just notice these changes more than many other people. I can see it in my walk, in the way I am beginning to dress, in the food I am eating and how I am eating it; in the fact that I would rather save money now than spend it, but not at the cost of something exquisite or extraordinary...does that make sense? I am not sure. But, after the last 3+ years of some of the hardest trials and anguish-- real or imagined-- I think I am finally realising that tehse times in our lives are not bad times, but growing pains. These are the times that allow you to transcend and emerge who you are/will be. It comforts me to think that perhaps I already might know who I am, I just haven't gotten to know her well yet, so that i may learn as much as possible about everything I can while I am away, rather than going on a search to "find myself" and only realizing that it was at home and in me all along, right there to begin with...(there's no place like home, Toto, there's no place like home). So, transition. (s).

The closer the departure day gets, the more terrified and electrified I become. I keep thinking, "Stupid girl! What are you doing!...you don't camp! you don't know what you are doing, where you are going..." but, most of all, how I will ever be able to talk myself into coming back. I have not even begun the journey, yet...at least, not in physical form...but, how will I be able to be happy coming back to a 9-5? And rent and bills. And expectations. Questions that cannot help but be answered later, I suppose.

It is odd to me, but I was surprised to find, the other day, that I am more scared of having nothing required of me. At first, all I felt was relief-- the continual shock of, "oh my God...I really won't HAVE to do anything...there's no reason to panic about being late for work, or having to turn in a paper, or get enough money to pay off my doctor bill..." andit is just such a foriegn feeling. I don't remember the time when I didn't HAVE to do something... But, now, there is this-- small, but growing-- fear in me of...what do I do? After I've seen this and done that and I am sitting there on a log in the middle of the alps in November and... what do I do? I suppose anything I want to. It's terrifying to realise that your life is actually your own...

Money

"Voyaging belongs to seamen, and to the wanderers of the world who cannot, or will not, fit in. If you are contemplating a voyage and you have the means, abandon the venture until your fortunes change. Only then will you know what the sea is all about.”
~ Colonel Sterling Hayden


Money. Well. My Father and I are at odd's again. This is no surprise, but frustrating, as I will be leaving Portland in 12 days. He wants control of my finances. So do I. He wants to be able to monitor everything in my account every month. So would I. He 'was going to give me $1,000+' which he will not now, because I expressed the desire to keep my money in my own account. He doesn't realise that I do not want his money. I'm not stupid. The tiny sum I have managed to save up will not go very far, especially in Europe. I am all too aware of this. But I also have faith in myself. I have contacted someone on the http://www.helpx.net/ website today, and have a number of other people I will contact when my plans firm up a bit. I have friends - or rather, my friend's cousin to stay with when I arrive in London, and 2 more of her relatives/friends who I will be meeting there.

...You see, I am not stupid. I know the dangers of having nothing to eat. I also have faith in myself and the world. I am not afraid to work - in fact I delight in the opportunity. And the one time I was happiest in my life were the few months that I was staying on a friends couch and could afford nothing more to eat than a tortilla and 1/2 a can of beans 2x a day; but you see I was dancing, and that was food enough for me...

Inspiration is the first step to all great journeys, I think...

"In our next lives, we'll remember not to be human.
We'll be a pair of wild geese,
Flying high into the sky.
And from that distance,
we'll look down on the world's blinding snows,
It's ocean's, waters, hills,
Clouds and red dust,
As if we had never fallen."

~ N'Guyen-Khac-Hieu

What's Past is Prologue...

PRELUDE, PROLOGUE, OR

WHAT YOU WILL

I wrote a poem to describe the situation. It was aweful. So I won't post it...

I am writing this blog for...what purpose? I know not...

I have never had many readers of my work...that I know of. I have a sporadic sort of journal/artwork/general-book-thing-to-paste-randoms-scrappage-in...so i don't really need this as a diary...

I suppose I am merely following a trend.

I suppose I wish to be helpful. To write about my wanderings in hope that I may help future wanderers and explorers; like all of the wonderful people I have been following for the past 6 months or more online in their adventures around the world...


...or maybe I'm just vain. ...We'll see how long this lasts... :)


In any case: Here I am. My name is Genevieve. I am leaving the United States and going to Europe for the next 6 months to a year to 2 years to...I don't know. I would say I would wish to wander forever, one adventure flowing smack-dash into the next in a continual wash-cycle tumble of sorts...but I have never before traveled like this...or much at all (though the yearning, the continual saring out windows and feeling the pull, and the whispering in my mind, on nights with no sleep, when I suddenly turn to the door and open it, saying ...go... has been with me as long as I have a memory, and that is long. The only problem, or opportunity I am facing now is that the more places I read about, the more I wish to know, see, experience.

I have never been the sort of person who just wanted to "see" something. Those people who come back after a weeks vacation and desribe how that jetted from Prague to Rome to London and Paris, managed to squeeze in every possible tourist infested attraction in 12hours, and still had time for dinner make me feel vomitous. My skin crawls. And I just want to say...why? But what did you really see? And at the moment 1 of my 3 jobs is working in a travel consolidator call center. Postcard tourist-travelers abound.

...BUT FIRST, A JOURNEY...

So. Here I am. I am here. Why am I where I am? Why am I going? Well. I had a birthday in January. I had my birthday, and the entire week surrounding it was...well. Let's just say it reeked of self-pity, self-loathing, frustration, and all-around "what the hell am I doing here, being alive?!" Needless to say, I couldn't stand it. I had the perfect job. I had the perfect house. I had a loving boyfriend, family, and many, many friends...(the fact that all these relationships were a bit strained was mostly due to my ever-increasing hermit-like quality, and an overwhelming case of selfishness that I had been slowly watering, and feeding, though not doing much in the way of pruning, though I did not want to admit it,).

The morning that things were lowest, in desperation, I suddenly shouted: I just want to go away! Why can't I just leave?!" ...and in that moment, I realised I could. I had always wanted to wander - I am a great reader of adventure novels, you see; my favorite book of all is the Count of Monte Cristo - and I had or my parents had or my friends had talked me out of these so called adventures more than once, til I had all but smothered the yearning, because it was too expensive, too dangerous, too...whatever...(there are always 100 'good' reasons why we do not have the things we want the most; but I think they all lead back to fear). But I am not afraid of sleeping outside in the forest or the city, I am not afraid of 'street people' - God, how offensive - or robbers or men, or or going for a few days without food. I AM afraid of bugs, though we have come to respect one another, and I am sure it is a mutual fear, so I suppose we must get to know each other better on this road). I am not even afraid of dying or death - and when I realized that, I KNEW I could go. Because, you see, to stay here in this moment would be to die a thousand times over: to be devoid of life. So go I must, and go I shall. I do not say that I am totally without all fear, but as my Mother loves to quote to her students,

"Courage is the willingness to be afraid...and act anyway."

So here I am. With a ticket to London. A backpack, a tent, a penny whistle, and a sketchbook-journal for company. Here I am. Now take me to the world...