Farewell Farm & Paris' Pleasures (part 1)

by Nicholas

The train to Paris took me through the French country side at high speeds. As small villages and large vineyards blurred by, I revisited some outstanding details of my time in Villeneuve Loubet. It will be hard to forget the uncertainty that I felt as I approached the farm for the first time. Strangely the farm house is located at the end of a maze-like suburban development. It is easy to doubt the existence of any farm at all upon arrival. 

Our shetler too stays salient. The past-its-prime caravan, or the simply old camper, was our resting place; good enough, we fenagled a bug net to keep out the French flies and better our comfort. In high winds the structure gently rocked.  

the caravan among vegetables ready for delivery 

Who could forget my relationship with the legumes, whom have literally grown close to me. I gave to them through my labor, and they gave to me through my mouth. The cycle of energy strengthens both our chances of survival. 

Although at times the vegetable delights do not fuel their own cultivation, I must admit to utilizing their nutrients for play too. The recreation I adore the most from my time in the South of France was afternoons spent at the river's swimming hole. Always accomanied by a troop of friends and a tray of food the wilderness retreat was a sanctuary and joy. 

Surrounded by tall lush trees and taller canyon walls the river funneled down a body-width shoot into a streaming pool. The waterfall projected the daring down its slide dropping them, free from rock, into the strong white waters below. Stone walls raised above three sides of the ride like falls providing at least a dozen points for cliff jumping. Tucked under the thunderous pour of the falls, an oasis of rock and moss peacefully lay protected by the pounding furry. I saw it and had a goal. 

"canyoning" a popular sport of hiking down canyon's rivers

Cliff diving began. Markus showed me the standard jump; then I explored the drop from spots with less room for error. His youthful energy climbing from pool, to atop rock, then releasing himself back to pool was exciting to match. Jennifer too joined in one act of the adrenalin rush!

Markus' "bunny dive"

My standard front flip

 After I joined Rhea and Jennifer, who were now dry, on a sunny rock and sat it on thier conversation. It was as if old friends continued flowing conversation from times past. Then over to six-year-old Mika and four-year-old Anouk who splashed and scream at the schockingly cold water's edge. Markus' daughter Mika, an English girl raised in France, spoke  English with an incredible London tone. In addition she spoke French with a flawless accent. Most incredible from a little lady with a lot of personality who could not yet even read! Time spent with Mika was most humbling for Jennifer and I when she corrected our lame French speech.

An afternoon with Mika in Nice was filled with French lessons!

Watching the girls was Fabian, a friend of the farm and father to Anouk. We discussed the differences of health care between countries, and I learned that the French face issues of inequality as well. The idealist views I had were brought into reality. I enjoyed a French cigarette with his wife Natasha. Once a street performing stilt walker she now paints (see her work! www.portraitpourtrait.com) The family, so generous, hosted gatherings at their home and showed us a warmth greater than the mediteranian climate.

As the sun set below the canyon walls a lone spot of sunshine reached a perch upon an overhung rock. There sat Fabrice (our host) with legs crossed, palms up, and eyes closed absorbing the sacred spot's last rays of illumination. Fabrice had earlier shared with me his few experiences with sweat lodges and Shamanic ceremonies. As he sat in the sun's shine I pondered the unearthly energy he had expereinced and still carried with him.

A chill replaced the warmth and it was now or never to reach the paradise behind the falls. The currents were too strong to swim through to the other side. The waters out of direct flow were also prevented access. I could't go left, I couldn't go right and straight through was not an option; horizontal movements were not the answer. Therefore, I climbed vertically atop the dropping flow. With the river I slid down the rock, into the air and beneath the water. The pressure pushed me down under the surface and away from the back of the falls. Still with the same breath I somersaulted to change direction under water. I swam down and towards the back of the pool where the water again became calm. I opened my eyes to see the white pressure from the falls dissipating above my head. A few strokes and I let my buoyancy take me to the still pool protected by the sounds and curtain of the falls. A few moments to myself before releasing my body back to the current of the river. As I return to the occupied world I hear Fabrices' voice, "Nico, your blood is hard!" This was a compliment to my achievement of overcoming the strength and bite of the 40ish degree Fahrenheit water.