Noah's musings

Of all the seemingly arbitrary things, I read a simple status on facebook from one of my friends which reminded me of something.

It reminded me that genuine passion exudes complacency, triviality and self-conciousness.  This update on facebook really had nothing to do with any of this....she just reminded her biking friends to stay warm during the cold weather. Good tip. Bad days and good days alike must both be put in the perspective of insignificance...and in so doing I think a better sense of place is begot.  I always seem to be questioning myself; is this a good idea? Was that the best choice?   Am I the sort of person who would find this interesting?  Who am I, anyway?  The question will never be entirely complete and I think that is a good thing.

I miss biking tremendously, and that dynamic should change this weekend.

So, alas, I am moving Friday from my small rectangular box in the exorbitantly expensive and beautiful arrondisement of Paris known as the 16^th - in all of its splendor - to a more central neighborhood with things nearby I can actually afford to do and actually stay open past 9 pm.  (If anyone is actually curious, type in 15 Rue Decamps Paris France 75016 and compare it to my future residence of 10 Rue Cité D'Hauteville, Paris, 75010) It will be with 4 european roomates in an actual apartment on the first floor.  Right now, I live on the 6th floor, atop 105 steps without an elevator.  To be honest, this really does not bother me...I curse everything and everyone as I ascend, but really, I like how much my calves have grown since I got here.  They've never been this big…

Well, there are a lot of steps in Paris.  I think it will be alright.  Anyway, I have a relatively beautiful bike I bought here in my second week that currently hides in a basement underground.  I don't like that.  It hides because I have nowhere to put it to safeguard it from the weather, and relocating it from the basement to ground level is not a particularly easy feat.

In this new place, I can keep my bike inside.  On the first floor.  

So, rambling, I just wanted to procrastinate a bit as I need to create a presentation tonight.  Actually, it's a topic of my choice based on my culture...sounds fun enough.  It's funny how trying to communicate in another language you do not understand terribly well reduces you to a child in many ways.  Anyway, I am choosing to talk about Chico.  I will have three main talking points - nature and what Chico has to offer, art and all of its forms from the shows at Naked Lounge to my aspiring, musically-gifted friends.  And most importantly beer, and how French can only get wine right and could afford to learn a thing or two from Sierra Nevada.

 I left this mid-sentence last night because I heard someone calling…from the street down below….my name!? My friend Eoran from Chico who was residing in France until today (she is moving to Montreal and on a plane as I type) needed a couch to crash on – but I thought she was coming today! Thank God I procrastinated and didn’t work on my presentation until then or I might not have been sitting alone in silence staring at a note pad to hear her.  It's so strange - my friends are scattered throughout the world.  Transcontinental relationships...I love it and despise it.

So my latest obsession of late is the catacombs of Paris.  There are more than 180 miles of these caves under Paris – an entire subterranean city that needs exploring.  Now it’s not entirely legal to go down there and entrances are hard to find…but how can I not be curious about the underground history ranging from Roman times, to Napoleon to World War 2?  Century-old plaques and underground lakes?  Yes please.  Check this out and tell me it is not enticing…  http://www.catacombes.info/

Sentiments of time later

Noah says and apologizes for spelling errors becaue his laptop is french:

"Vagabonding takes (traveling) a step further: it promotes the chances of sustaining and strengthening this positive attitude.  As a vagabond, you begin to face your fears now instead of continuously sidestepping them in the name of convenience.  You build an attitude that makes life more rewarding, which in turn makes it easier to keep doing it."  - Ed Buryn

Well, it definitely gets easier.  My attitude needs a touch of adjustment, though. I described to my friend the other day, after he asked how it is and how everything is going, as "Well, it's Paris."  These nearly three months have sort of slipped by me and I am realizing I'm not entirely content with how I've handled them all in all- I've done this before and that sort of honey-moon effect never really got to me.  It's been more of a struggle to push myself in to different things, which i love doing.

I'm not entirely sure what it is I'm saying - I almsot never am until I reflect on everything and look back at it, which is why I journal.  Right now I am faced with a decision: move out of my little but cozy expensive box on the 6th floor in one of the nicest (but not exactly central) neighborhoods of Paris to a place with roomates - 2 italians, a french and an english guy.  It's a real appartment, I could actually bike AND store my bike in the house. I live across the river now up the hill out of the way a bit...it's not exactly as practical for biking.  The other location is quite central.  Sounds like an easy decision, right?  Well, it should be, so I'm going to do it.

My classes are lackluster and unfulfilling.  I almost revel in the joy that comes from being able to talk to a tech support person for something in the U.S. over skype because I can manipulate the English language to serve my needs.  "Je parle avec l'air d'un enfant" is the truth.  At least my mental capacity is not also that of a child.    It's fun and intriguing albeit hideuosly annoying sometimes- not being able to express myself how I am used toor how I would like. (But that's why I'm here...)  I've been to two west coast swing dance classes now and, as I was writing down in my journal the new things I learned yesterday night, I was nearly home on the line 6. The line 6 goes over the river Seine and provides a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower.  Without thinking I had this brief feeling of not just being another body passing through this conglomorate of structures people cars and objects but a feeling of actually belonging or purpose...so, right now, I think I will continue to justify that.

It's really frustrating because the French culture does not really embrace superficial small talk akin to that many of us are familiar with in the United States...argument is a tool to understand each other better, not prove your point.  If you know me much at all really, you probably know that all you have to do is say one of many keywords and I will be happy to blabber endlessly about my thoughts on said subject and listen to yours.  The French seem to love that, expressing themselves and their idiosyncratic thoughts on said subject.  The annoyance is how much I would love to be involved but simply can't - not without the ability to express myself with some deceny in French.  I guess my standards are....refined, or something, or so said my friend.  I think he's right, and I think patience is the answer.  After all, I have another 7 months here to figure things out. That definitely does not seem like enough right now, though.

“… you have to do the work.”

Kaylyn and Rebeca enjoying the lights of the city.

The 58th Annual, San Sebastian International Film Festival has been in town this last week, filling the small streets and theaters of Donostia with glitz, glam, and even more foreigners than usual. All the hype and excitement has been even more entertaining than the films themselves, as locals and tourists alike fill the walkways out side of the beautiful Hotel Maria Christina and the architecturally stunning Kursel theater, crowding around, trying to catch a glimpse of passing celebrities. Otherwise a rarity in our town, advertisements and billboards have popped up around the city and overstuffed buses running until all hours the night can be seen carrying energetic crowds of movie goers clutching their precious film guides and tickets. Despite the extra traffic, I honestly will be sad when all of it’s gone. While the rest of Donostia revels over the glorious fact that the lovely Julia Roberts is here, I still find myself reveling in the glories of the lovely Donostia- film festival, tourists and all.

Last night I went with a few girl friends to the headlining movie “Eat, Pray, Love.” Or “Come, Raza, Ama.” en Español, in which Julia Roberts plays the part of Liz, a recently divorced, world traveler trying to find herself. The film was in English with Spanish subtitles, and generally enjoyable except for occasionally illogical scenes which are bound to happen when one condenses a very well written book into a very short film. Each of the main parts of film struck a cord with me for a different reason and it’s easy to appreciate the irony of watching such a film while living abroad.
In the first part of the film our character Liz is struggling with the knowledge that her marriage is over, her heart feels empty and she finds herself anxious but determined to move to Europe. One of the characters during this phase of the film talks about “…being miserable together but happy not to be apart” and while I certainly wouldn’t describe my life back home as being miserable I can certainly relate to the fear of change and of leaving what’s comfortable. I am still in this process- I am still very much in my comfort zone here (with classes, and friends and roommates all speaking various amounts of English), and I realize that I could easily live the entire next year without ever really being in Spain. I could easily conduct my day-to-day life in about 90% English- talk, read, write, think, feel, pray, experience, process, travel and live in English… and never let this beautiful culture change me… but I choose otherwise. I choose to live here, en El Pais Vasco! And to this end I am ready to get uncomfortable. To get unnerved. To admit that I am foreigner who knows nothing but that I am not a tourist who doesn’t care. I am still in the process of letting go of my “old life” and learning to embrace this one…
The second part of the story takes place in a beautifully decomposing neighborhood in Rome, where Liz learns to enjoy the simple pleasures of good food, good friends and a beautiful language. In the film Americans are stereotyped as being unable to fully relax, enjoy life, or feel that they deserve the unthinkable luxury of time “to do nothing.” I. Can. Re-late! It’s awful how uptight, frustrated and detail oriented I constantly feel. Somehow no matter the circumstances I always seem to give myself so much stuff  “to do” that I can never really enjoy any of it. Here, what should be a relatively easy life schedule compared to home, somehow withers away in front of me each day filled with nothing but homework and American acquaintances. How frustrating! However, last Tuesday I finely met my Spanish conversation partner and we went out for a drink before meeting up with friends for dinner. It felt so good to spend 45 minutes doing nothing but talking, watching soccer and enjoying the BEST cup of hot chocolate I’ve ever had in my life.

For the final lesson from “Eat, Pray Love” I end not with the last part of the movie, but with the part I came here to work the most on: prayer. In the film our friend Liz finds herself living in an Ashram in India, overwhelmed by her own thoughts and inability to focus or find the illusive “peace” she so desperately desires in her life. Everyday she goes through the motions of prayer and meditation, but not until she finds something outside of herself to pray and mediate for does she actually begin to connect with her spiritual practice and those around her. A fellow American at the Ashram relentlessly reminds Liz every time that she starts to complain, that you can’t use anything, including meditation, as a fast way out of your own suffering. “… you have to do the work!” You have to plant your ass on the cushion, stop talking, stop complaining, stop aching and whining about how difficult it is and just work through the frustration and the boredom until you learn how to listen. To be silent. To feel. To be present. And to forgive your self for all of the crap you think is wrong with you or needs to be “fixed.” As my old Buddhist friend Amos once told me, “You are perfect just the way you are.”

This is where I’m at right now. In need of prayer. In need of quiet. Willing to give up all the words in English that I could use to try and define myself and impose some made-up identity that doesn’t really exist. Once I commit to only speaking Spanish- I really won’t have a lot I can say- and this- this will make all difference. Maybe I will even learn how to let go. Relax. Savor food and time with friends. Pray, listen and love…

Reality

I’ve been having nightmares most nights since I first arrived here in San Sebastian. All of them are about being stuck in the United States in some horrible circumstances and not being able to get to Spain. After a few nights of these bad dreams I reflected on the fact that I still can’t believe I’m here- my subconscious is up all night trying to workout how it’s possible that I’m actually living in another country. My brain/heart/mind/body realizes how illogical this. Girls with no money, who struggle through school and come from broken families don’t just get up and leave the country… they don’t just suddenly find amazing jobs and people and boyfriends that they love and make a good life for themselves… they don’t keep pushing themselves through school, work their butts off for scholarships and land on the doorsteps of some beautiful costal town… right? 

My mind is still trying to comprehend that I meet all and none of the above criteria. That I am here right now and that none of the other “stuff”, the labels and assumptions and opinions and the big grad story I tell myself about who I am, none of it is real. I am right here. That is what’s real yet that that is what is the most difficult thing for me to grasp.

The shock that I have been experiencing here on a daily basis is much less a reaction to the differences in culture, time, food, directions, dates, values, language, landscapes, seascapes, currency, measuring units, and the different pace of walking, walking, walking, everywhere, everyone is walking all the time, which after a few days all feels quiet natural and easy, and more so to the mind blowing realization that I exist- here. now. and I like it. How, out of all the situations and things that have ever happened in the fate of The Universe is it possible that this is real? That I have such incredibly amazing classes and instructors in such a brilliantly well-organized study abroad program... How is it possible that I have such a perfectly comfortable apartment and two wonderful roommates who I absolutely adore? (One from Chico State and the other, Basque!) How in Heaven or Earth is it possible that such forces could come together so that I could feel the water and sand of the Atlantic rushing over my feet as I walked home from school today... Can I really stay here for a year? Can I really learn Spanish and some Basque, meet locals and maybe even get to know this place and it's people? 

Yes! All of it is possible! This is really real! 

While doing my homework last night I stumbled across the expression “hallarse” which roughly translates as "to find ones self". If I believe, as I have for quiet sometime, that the point of life is "to know and to love God", and "God" is every single thing in the Universe, then to set out on the journey to find myself and to know this place (and therefore better know and connect with the universe) truly is a pilgrimage and I go into it knowing how beautiful and precious this moment really is.

Circles (Part II)

 ... See Previous Post "Circles"

My flight from Madrid to Bilbao was short, simple and pleasant thanks to a young Basque guy who spoke some English and explained to me how to catch the bus from the airport to San Sebastian. I eventually arrived in the district where my hotel was known as the "Old Town" and wound up walking around in circles with all of my luggage through crowds of drunken teenagers and college students who where successfully looking cool. Or at least much cooler than me. I eventually found my hostel, again thanks to a strangers help, and was so relieved to put my bags down and take a shower. After traveling for over 24 hours with only a few cat naps all I wanted to do was sleep but I forced myself to venture outside and find my first Pinxoe (Tapa) since I knew I had to eat. I picked a few land marks to remember so I couldn't get lost, found a relatively quiet bar and in and very, very broken Spanish told the owner that it was my first day in Spain and I was ready for my first Pinxoe. He looked confused and replied "You mean your first day in the Basque Country." I laughed and said "Of course, my first day in the Basque county too..." I realize now that he was correcting me- I am not in Spain and as long as I live in San Sebastian/ Donosita I really am in another country - The Basque Country. I enjoyed my delicious breaded/fried mussel, walked back to the hostel, and slept- hard. Grateful for the bed and kind people who had helped me arrive.

I'm choosing to share my first day because I think it's important. I went through everything I needed to go through for a reason and I'm immensely glad I had to do all of it by myself and in Spanish. I have many other fun and interesting things I can't wait to share and my classes begin tomorrow so another update will be pending soon. For now I leave you with this high note: this afternoon I needed to grab a quick bite to eat before the second half of our orientation program began. However most bars where closed for siesta. I stopped into a small restaurant and ordered the first word I recognized on the menu, "papas" which is potatoes. To my surprise I was served a hot plate of french fries with a side of mayonnaise- which by that time I had only a few minutes to consume. I blew on the hot fires. Dipped them in mayo. Ate. Paid the bill. Laughed to myself and went to orientation. I have no idea what I'm doing, and it's great.
Buenas noches.

Circles

Saludos desde España!

So much has happened already in the last 5 days that there's too much to share it all but I'm happy I can stop and write a about a few things. First of all, thank you again so much to everyone who has been helpful and supportive while I've been going through the crazy process of trying to pack up my life and flee to Europe. My soul needs this exploration of the unknown so I hope each of you know how much you have enriched my life and my capacity to grow by helping me get here. Each kindness reverberates out into the universe a million times over so be assured your good deeds will find their way back to you in ways you can never know or understand. (This also goes out to all of the people who have already helped in Spain and to whom I will never meet again or be able to give proper thanks).

The fact that I made it here still blows my mind. My first flight from San Francisco to New York was fine except for the fact that American Airlines provided no in-flight food on a 5 hour ride- luckily a flight attendant gave me some crackers and raisins out of sympathy. I had no idea I could pack more than just "snack" foods and now I know for next time to bring a whole lasagna. Once we landed in New York I had to rush through JFK airport to get some food and snacks not sure if I would be able to eat on the next flight -which was a few minutes delayed anyways. We finely bordered which was an absolute mess with everyone rushing since the plane had been late coming in. Once everyone was settled we sat in the plane for over an hour while the crew tried to repair some intentionally not specified "mechanical problems" and we wound up going back to the gate, un-boarding everyone and changing planes. After another hour and a half, a free meal ticket and some more delays we finely left for Spain 4 and 1/2 hours late! We arrived at the Madrid airport one hour before my connection to Bilbao, (a city very close to San Sebastian) was to depart. I apologetically talked my way to the front of the customs line, rushed through security to find my gate and realized that I had no idea where I was. There where absolutely no airport maps and I couldn't find anyone who worked there. There was an arrow pointing down that said "Puertas/Gates" so I got in the elevator and went down- to my surprise I went two floors underground to level negative 2!! Baggage Claim. Not what I wanted. I got back in the elevator and went up again.I stopped someone who told me to ask on floor Zero. Obviously confused I tried to go back down but wound up on floor -2, again. I asked two very kind gentlemen how to get to my gate and they said to go back upstairs- so I went up the stairs, not the elevator, with two bags, running just to realize that the stairs don't let out on every floor only at the top again- right back where I started. I asked someone else, ready to cry, and they told me to go back down on the escalator... So back at -2 I was when a woman who spoke both English and Spanish asked me if I was going to Barcelona. When I explained my problem she told me we had to get on the metro and that it was a 15 minute ride to our terminal. WHAT! The airport is so big we have to take a special metro just to get a cross it?! I bored the metro which was on that damn -2 floor I had been on all along and realized after arriving in my correct terminal that the arrows I thought where pointing down actually meant "go forward". I ran from one end of the VERY large terminal to the other before I finely found mi puerta and it was completely empty- no plane. No people. I had missed my flight...
I took a deep breath and walked all the way back to the center to the terminal... a very sad and exhausted walk.

My plane left without me while I was busy running around in circles.The whole rest of the trip to Spain went like that too. I had to go back and forth to 4 different desks, each of which kept telling me to go back to the previous one, in order to get a new boarding pass. A very nice and apologetic American Airlines Employee gave me a free lunch ticket and after collapsing from exhaustion I half slept in front of my new gate pleading with the universe to let me sleep but not miss my flight.I have never been quiet that tired in my entire life.

upate

To those who are checking this I just want to say that I have just moved and the internet is not set up yet, hence the lack of posts.  But this will change soon!

smatherings

Its late and my mind is scattered.
I'm not sure where to begin.  This has simultaneously happened so fast yet dragged on so slowly its hard to believe the Eiffel Tower is outside my window, but last time I checked its still there.  I've been quite sick since the miserable plane ride (miserable only because I felt awful), and today is the first day i've felt remotely healthy, although I still suffer from a hacking cough which seems to be deteriorating again as i write this.

So, invariably, I've not been particularly able to take everything with the sentiment and clarity I would prefer, but that's ok.  Things have really just started, so it's hard to judge how I'm feeling.  Kind of blank, actually - but happy.  So here is my scattered stream of thought because I'm too tired to put this in proper order (but stay tuned for next time).

love that i can turn any corner any be astounded with some random albeit beautiful creation or work made at the whim of some fantastical king, scholar, poet, architect...

why cant americans just simply BE, outside a cafe, on the steps, at the square chatting, talking, watching...BEING. this is completely and utterly lost in our culture. I really wish my french was not next to useless as i have trouble communicating with 5 year-olds but i guess why thats why im living in Paris for a year
I cannot wait to find my permanent flat/house/room whatever it may be... and a bike... and also to be healthy and un-jet-lagged.

This city will teach me a thing or 2 about self-discipline via budgeting,

More sensible updates coming soon

Why We Write

A pilgramage is ones journey to their spiritual center. It involeves taking the long path there and letting the road change and humble you along the way. The trip its self is supposed to spirtually and emotionaly prepare you for meeting your most sacred destination.

Our pilgrimage will involve traveling to the destination at the center of the universe that is in every persons heart. That center is perfectly interconnected with every raindrop, blade of grass and graffite taged sidewalk, and bumbling college student on this planet- including you.

While we are studying abroad in order to travel, have fun, meet amazing people, experience crazy adventures and stumble through the akwardness of a foregin langage, we are also going in order to push ourselves and see what we are capable of- not for personal gain or goals but to better understand all people and see what humanity is capable of.

This blog is called Three Pilgrams becuase as we each delve deeper into our own journey we will find that our pilgrimage is to the center of our true selves. In time we will find that our "true selves" will look nothing like the personalities or persona's we have spent years constructing, reinforcing and believing and a lot more like the faces of people walking down the street.

Our planes leave soon, our nerves are wracked but we're stoked and we hope you are too. Thank you to everyone who has loved, supported and helped us along the way and also thank you to everyone who also kicked our butts when we needed it.

"We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned in order to have the life that is waiting us us."
- E.M. Forester