Adventure Loss Anxiety

We are suffering from a new and unnamed syndrome: Adventure Loss Anxiety. It has put us into a bit of a funk, poised as we are on the knife edge of fearing the end of our wonderful adventure and longing to be home. Wandering as we have for the past five weeks, always moving to different places, seeing different scenes and landscapes we now want some stability, but with adventure thrown in.
We have had time to begin to think about what we have learned over the past year, what we want to bring to our Toronto life from our La Rochelle life and to try and make a few plans about how to do that. We are bringing back our unfinished projects with renewed energy to tackle them differently (including weight loss-nothing like a few Devon cream teas or English breakfasts to throw that into disarray!!). We are beginning to see that our return to Toronto will be an adventure in itself. We are different; everyone we know has been through their own year of change and adventure; we want to live a bit differently. All of this helps us to see that really our adventure isn't over and that one of the things we have learned is to see the adventure in everyday activities.
We are enjoying these last few weeks. They have been filled with visits with friends whom we won't see again for some time and we have had some relaxing times together wandering the English countryside. In spite of unseasonably cold and rainy weather, even for the UK, we managed to have some great hikes across the moors and along the cliffs.

Our friend in Cornwall took us to visit some very old tin mine sites and then to an excellent play, produced in a large tent in the middle of the Cornish countryside.

We visited Tintern Abbey, the beautiful ruin that inspired Wordsworth to write one of his most popular poems and hiked up the trail that is said to have inspired the poem.

We slept in ancient hotels, full of atmosphere, and continued to meet interesting and welcoming people. One day we lunched at the British Legion Café, run by local women. As we were looking for accommodation by the seaside, I asked if they knew of a place where we could see and hear the waves. "Oh, Betty will know that " they said, and sure enough Betty sent us off to the Hartland Quay Hotel, right on the edge of the cliffs, where by chance their "best room" was available. The waves crashed on the rocks through the night, we could watch the activity on the beach and at the end of the day see the sunset—all my heart's desires in one little place.

 Now we are in London, saying goodbye, before we set off for our week in Paris. Not a week of sightseeing but rather lovelier times with family and friends. And then, September 9 in the early morning we will say goodbye to this amazing time as we board Air Canada for the flight home. I expect there will be some tears; of sadness for what we are leaving behind, of joy because we will be on our way home, of amazement for all we have done and of laughter for all the funny and wonderful things that we have experienced.

We don't think this will be the end of the blog. No promises about every week but this is not goodbye but rather

 A bientôt nos amis!

All Aboard!

There we were in solitary splendour, sitting in a 20s first class carriage, complete with the door at the end, where I could wave goodbye to the masses, just like the Queen. We were enjoying our return journey on the South Devon Railway, the volunteer-managed steam train line that runs in this area. We had imagined that we might be the only ones in our carriage when there was a great commotion behind us: "Dahling, this is perfectly mahvellous! I think when I was a gell, there were sofas but this is perfectly mahvellous!" In swept a slim woman of a certain age, bright red hair beautifully cut, clutching a very small dog. I felt she gazed upon us with distaste and carried on to the furthest end of the carriage where she installed herself with three friends, two men and a woman. We said goodbye to our dream of a Queen-like journey and settled in for some local colour. And once again, we felt like time travellers. The redhead and co. sounded as though they had been plucked from a Nancy Mitford or Evelyn Waugh novel. I searched my memory, her voice sounded familiar. Finally I remembered Joan Greenwood. This voice had the same affected, husky purring tones.
 "No one cooks in London anymore, dahling. My American friend (with a look from under her lashes down at us) thought my rosemary jelly came from Harrods." 
"Ooh, dahlng, look, a perfect English meadow. There are hardly any left anymore. People do keep planting things in them and spoiling them."
And one of her companions chimed in, seemingly channelling Sebastian Fleet:"Quite wight, dahling, it's a shame weally." I looked for a teddy bear but there was only the dog.

We had begun our journey at the Staverton station, often used as a film set it is so unspoiled. We were greeted by the station-master, a friendly fellow with a cane whose job it was to sell tickets and see to both the signal box and the closing of the level crossing gates.

We waited on the platform, admiring the plants and all the old advertising signs. In one corner you will see the luggage trolley, filled with old leather suitcases, many of them with what seemed to be original luggage tags of people long gone and forgotten. And then we heard the now familiar tooting of the train whistle as it came down the track and steamed into the station

.

We found ourselves in an old British Rail carriage, complete with plush and framed drawings of places of interest in Britain. In a great puff of steam, we chugged out of the station. And then  it all seemed familiar: the clicking of the wheels along the rails, the chuga-chuga sound of the engine, the smell of coal and as we had the window open, a few cinders flying in. I was back in time. I was eight and for several months travelled to Ottawa with my Dad every morning on the Wakefield train. It was a special time for me, having my Dad all to myself, then taking the streetcar, like a grown-up to my school in Ottawa South—ALONE!! As in those days long ago, the conductors were jolly and helpful. The difference was that the ones on the South Devon Railway are all volunteers. And what a happy bunch they are! I don't think I have ever come across a group of volunteers who are so uniformly enthusiastic about what they are doing. They all had big smiles and were always ready with a quip. But for one woman in the ticket office, they were all men so you can imagine that they were now living out their boyhood dreams of working on the railroad. Whatever the reason,  they deserve congratulations for making this experience such a pleasurable one.

We are leaving Staverton today. We will head close to the tip of England in Cornwall to stay with a friend for a few days and then north to the Cotswolds to another cottage in a very small village. We are going to miss the church bells and the train whistle as well as the beautiful countryside of Devon. It has been a relaxing and restorative two weeks.

We are not sure of how easy it will be to connect to the Internet for the next two weeks, thus this early posting. We will certainly have more adventures to report but may be a bit late in the posting of them!

Village Life

It is Sunday morning and the bells of little St. Paul's Church are pealing over the village. It is an inspiring and joyful sound. We watched the bell ringers as they practised on Thursday evening. We were impressed by their slim bodies and after a while we realized that this is very hard work—an excellent aerobic and arm workout! The bells have stopped now and I wonder how many people will be at the service after the rigours of the Garden Show yesterday. So many people worked so hard to pull it off and it was pronounced a great success by everyone, including the Canadian interlopers. We set off for the lunch, scheduled for 1 PM and arrived by 1:10 to find the tent full. Luckily, they found places for us and we sat down to roast beef, new

potatoes, salad, bread, wine and cheesecake. The people around us were very friendly and chatty, wondering about us and sharing information about their own lives. We were both struck by the difference between this experience and the one we had last year in Warkworth, Ontario when we attended the Longest Lunch (tables set all the way down the main street with a home-cooked lunch). There we couldn't pry a word out of anyone. They studiously ignored us. I wonder if this year has made us more approachable? Or do we just blunder in now and begin conversations? Anyway, it was fun and we enjoyed meeting these people, some of whom had grown up in the village. Someone sent us to meet a local teacher who had worked for years in Montreal. Now retired in Staverton, she returns to Canada every summer to go to the Stratford and Shaw Festivals (although the original Stratford is a stone's throw from here!). A long welcome speech from the chair of the organizing committee ended with his invitation to any of the judges who wished to speak. This fellow, in the most delightful of Devonian accents, then

 
regaled us with his disappointment in the shape of the 'spuds'. When we reached the display

tent, there was his note for all to see. 

Look at these spring onions (trimmed and untrimmed—2 different categories), and this Best in Show display: have you ever seen such large parsnips? We were impressed by the number of entries from young people

and from Mrs. A. Mann who seemed to be everywhere: gardening (those are her potatoes), baking, arranging flowers and winning prizes at them all. It was not

surprising that when it came time for the Honorary President

to present the prizes that she was a winner.

When they began the races, e went back in time to our own childhoods and Sunday School picnics.  43 in total, there were egg and spoon, three legged, parent and child relays, and of course the Mature Women's (which had 2 contestants) and the Veteran Men (which had many more!). The competitive spirit is alive and well. Look at the expressions on these faces!

We finally left around 6 when they were beginning to organize for the tug of war with several more games to come. It had been a lovely afternoon and great fun.

We had a great hike this week along the Devon coastal trail. After manoeuvring roads like this,

we set out across fields to the cliffs on the edge of the Channel. 

 It was a magnificent walk with breathtaking scenery in all directions. Imagine how surprising to find this bed of flowers at the bottom of a long hill through a forest!

  

Of course, there are stiles everywhere but this one had a place for dogs.

We are having fun, relaxing, reading a lot. Perhaps this coming week, we will turn into real tourists but I wouldn't bet on it. Village life is slow and enticing!

Back to the Past

I am sitting in the drawing room of Church Cottage, looking out on the English garden.

The drawing room feels, in a pleasant way, like the set from a 50s British stage play, a comedy of manners. I keep expecting Kay Kendall or Rex Harrison to enter stage left, wearing tweeds and carrying respectively, flowers and a pipe.

Church Cottage was the retirement home of parents of a friend of mine. When they died, Liz and her family decided to keep the cottage as a bolthole for the family and for friends, when available. Lucky us! We are here for two weeks of relaxation, hiking and exploration of the south Devon area. Our new home is situated in a tiny village, Staverton (near Totnes, as the address states) that boasts a 14th century church and a Condé Naste recommended pub/hotel. It also has the South Devon Railway. This old steam train is now a tourist attraction, runs throughout the year and is managed and staffed by volunteers. We hear its whistle and chugging as it arrives at Staverton Station every hour or so. Next door to the cottage is the 14th century church, thus Church Cottage. This church has a nice set of bells for its clock. They have just struck 3 times, reminding me that it is a quarter to something. Strangely, the actual clock faces the graveyard so the living can’t see the actual time! I think it is to remind me and David that we don’t need to know what time it is for the next two weeks. The only day we need to know the time is the one when we take the South Devon Railway. We are contemplating a Thursday afternoon when you may order a Devonshire Cream Tea to eat while watching the landscape go by. For those of you who haven’t had the fun of travelling in Britain, a cream tea is a way to ingest most of your daily calories in one delicious go. You might begin with cucumber sandwiches on thinly sliced brown bread (without crusts, of course). Then comes the pièce de résistance: freshly baked scones with raisins that you slather with Devonshire clotted cream (a cross between whipped cream and butter) and top with strawberry jam. You might end with a piece of fruitcake thus ensuring a carb/sugar high that may have you running for the next few hours!

Our week in London was busy. So lovely to see friends, enjoy some theatre and for me, a visit to Whitstable for two days of sea air and some walking by the beach. We arrived here from London on Saturday night after renting a rather upmarket Toyota in central London near our friends’ home. We were both nervous about driving on the left hand side of the road as well as the initiation in central London. After some discussion, we decided that I would drive and David would navigate. He would do so along with Miss K. (named after the very strict headmistress of the school I attended in London in my teens) whose voice emerges from the Tom Tom (or GPS). Nearly six hours later we drew up to the parking place for Church Cottage. It was tense at times, with both of us gently repeating (and only a few times shouting) ‘left hand side of the road’ and ‘you’re too close to the left edge’. We made our way successfully through the Saturday morning traffic and out on to the M5 heading to the West Country, then on to the M4 for Devon. The highways were easy as there was so much traffic, we were sometimes only travelling at 30 mph. However, once off the big highway, we were suddenly in typical English lanes: very narrow, with high 8-10 foot hedges on either side of the road. There are still cut-outs to reverse into if you are caught with no room when another car approaches. It is back to the 50s driving to go with the Church Cottage drawing room.


We have read the Parish News, a 22 page accounting of all the activities of the various Parish Councils. We were interested in the sway these volunteer councils have over local building permissions, as well as the large number of activities reported that are staffed by volunteers. In the News is the report of a visit by one of the parish councillors to the local sewage treatment plant, the account of some strange orange lights floating over the landscape and the terrible news of the burning of the marquee and all the tables and chairs just before the Broadhempston Fete, apparently a case of arson. Staverton is having its own Fête and Garden Show on Saturday so we have offered to volunteer and will go to the homemade lunch. The rules for entry in the garden competition are complicated and rather fierce (especially if David is reading them in his best BBC voice!). There are Classes only for parishioners, the rather alarming rule that ‘The Committee claims the right, if they think necessary, to visit any Exhibitor’s garden or allotment, either before or after the show.’ What could have happened to make that a rule? And what might you choose to do for the Fête? From your garden, you could enter your 6 Pods of Peas, 3 Parsnips, 3 Spring sown Onions (untrimmed) or 3 Onions grown from flat sets (trimmed). All these must be shown in baskets or trays except for the parsnips that must be tied in a bunch. Or you could try for category 151 The Highest Number of Items you can fit into a standard size matchbox beginning with the letter “S” (with a numbered list of all the items included). Or bake Cheese Straws, a savoury flan or a round of shortbread. Or arrange flowers for a wedding, or an exhibit of no more than 7 blooms. And then, of course, there are the sports. Races galore—egg and spoon, sack, wheelbarrow and the ‘Mature Ladies Race (40 and over)’!!! It doesn’t say how long it is. We are looking forward to this and will keep you posted about this adventure.

Coming Soon But I Don't Know When!

We are now in Devon in the south-west of England. It is beautiful and enormously relaxing. However, the only WiFi is in a charming pub and  this needs more organization than I had anticipated! The blog is written, the photos are taken but getting it all together has escaped me for the moment. Tune in and see . . . perhaps tomorrow?

Is There Life After La Rochelle? What Next?

Mal du Pays, Part II may have sounded like the end of the blog but it's not! We have decided we might be addicted to blogging! So we plan to continue to let you know about our new adventures in England and Paris as we count down to September 9 and our return to Toronto. As well, we imagine that we may have some interesting experiences upon our return.  Perhaps a bit of culture shock? Soon we will be relaxing at a cottage in England. We hope to take some of that time to begin to think about what this year has meant to us, individually and as a couple. What  has changed in our perceptions of the world and of ourselves? What are we taking back to Toronto and how might we want our life to change there as a result of living in La Rochelle?
We will try and keep to our schedule of every Monday so tune in . . .

Mal du Pays Part 2

We have left La Rochelle. We still have seven weeks left in Europe, but on Friday it was goodbye to the place that has been home for the past ten months. While we have made a home in La Rochelle, it is not Home. During the past ten months I have thought alot about the meaning of Home. I wonder what David and I mean when we say we are 'going home'.  Is it Canada? Toronto? Hutton Avenue? Or is it really friends and family?  Interestingly, there is no real word for Home in French. The closest translation is chez nous which to me does not capture the emotion and personal history of the English word. We have talked about this with our French friends and they agree. They say that generally when they say chez nous, they are talking more about the physical aspects of home, sometimes about what happens in the home, but not the warmth and belonging that seems to be inherent in the English word.
Thornton Wilder said: "When you're safe at home you wish you were having an adventure; when you're having an adventure you wish you were safe at home." Leaving La Rochelle has been a  double-edged sword. We were both really sad to give up all that was there for us. But when we thought of being back in Toronto, we felt a real urgency to be there soon, to reconnect with family and friends and to feel at home. It seems that now I am going to have mal de pays in two directions! There are so many things I am going to miss about La Rochelle and now that Home is getting closer, I can allow myself to begin to miss all the things I love about Home in Toronto. This conflict of emotions certainly made us aware of the need to 'be in the moment' so as not to miss all the experiences of our last days in La Rochelle.
I will miss the beauty of La Rochelle. Even after ten months, I continued to rubberneck when walking about the town. The last few days I took longer to look, to try to remember my favourite sights: the statue of one Bonne Femme right on our street,  the rooftops from our balcony in the early morning light, the old clock tower with the wonderful boulangerie nestled in its shadow (with the best pains au raisins in the city!), the nooks and crannies that are part of any walk in this city.

I will definitely miss the great luxury of having a splendid market within steps of my front door and especially the wonder of the food in it. I will miss the people we know around the city: the shopkeepers, market stall vendors, the wonderful hairdresser, the helpful woman in the mercerie. I have been a real customer for them, someone they took time to know. Just before leaving I went to say goodbye to many of them and was truly touched by their good wishes to us. Even Blondie told us she will miss us, 'les gens sympas sur le balcon' ! And, of course, we will miss our friends. How amazing to be leaving these relationships carved out in only ten months, in a country where we were told this would be impossible. We feel sure that they will continue via email and Skype, becoming richer and stronger. We will be saying goodbye to the wonderful apartment where we have lived so comfortably as well as the gym (and handsome Ludovic), the park, the cafés and all the other things that are part of our daily routine. I am going to miss being me in French and the feeling of victory and competence that comes with that. And I will miss the idea of myself as an adventurer, someone willing to give up Home for exciting experiences.
But . . . Home beckons and I am ready to be there. I crave Canadian Old Cheddar, cranberry sauce, a battery operated phone, maple sugar, our bed with a box spring instead of slats, a final canoe trip in the glorious Canadian autumn, that quiet, Canadian way of saying 'sorry'. Most of all,  I crave all of you. I knew you were important to me before I left but this time away has served to let me know just how important. I am looking forward to gathering friends and family together to hear first hand about your adventures and accomplishments but most of all to let you know how much you have been missed.  Like the "Burd" in Stuart McLean's story, "Just like anyone else who has ever had a home, she had followed that universal urge to leave. Of all the mysteries of migration maybe that's the only true thing, the one true thing, that we know and share with animals big and small, this sense of seeking, finding and leaving but above all, of returning home."
A très bientôt. See you soon.