Leaving Cherbourg, Walden and a new filter

15/6 - In two days I'll be back in California. Of course, I still need to pack my things and clean the flat (always leaving these things to the last minute). I'm excited to make the journey back to my hometown!

I saw a video last night where the speakers talked about the importance of simply trying something and putting forth an effort to make it work. If you try but fail, it's not a bad thing because you weren't afraid to give it a go.

There were many reasons not to move to France: I quit my job and couldn't get one there because of the visa, I didn't speak French, I didn't know anyone, I was laid off from my part time job, the country was unsafe, etc.

But I followed my instinct, which told me to go to France because that's what felt right. In other words, I gave it a try.

Eight months later, I'm glad I drove to the French Consulate in San Francisco four times to sort out the visa. I'm happy I learned basic French in order to get by. I'm proud I made Cherbourg my home during this time. I'm happy I tried.

I didn't fail, either; It was a massive success!

By quitting and moving to France, I removed myself from routine that made me unhappy and feel stuck. I removed myself and did a restart, so to say. Coming here enabled me to examine the inner reaches of my core being in solitude. It's appropriate to say that I was a bit like Henry David Thoreau when he went to live in the forest and wrote Walden.

"I went to live in the forest because I wished to live deliberately, to suck the marrow out of life..."

My forest was a tiny, 3-story flat in a French seaport. Is there really any difference? This comparison only recently came to me, and not once did I ever have the arrogance as to expect to have a Thoreau experience. Hindsight is a funny thing. I certainly feel as though I sucked the marrow out of my time in France, because now I'm a bit more self-aware than before. 

17/6 - I was emotional when I left England for the final time, because I wanted to stay; that was an incredible year and I wanted to keep traveling. My final days in Porterville were difficult because I realized how I had acted and was ashamed of myself.

Leaving the flat in Cherbourg for the final time was remarkably easy. It was strange because this was such a big part of my life, but it wasn't difficult to leave the flat or say goodbye to my friends. There was no longing to stay a few more weeks to see the upcoming music festivals in the area, no inner disappointment that the stay lasted only eight months.

I feel completely satisfied by my time in Normandy. I accomplished everything I set out to do, I learned new skills and have a new hobby. Besides meeting Marie-Amance in person, there wasn't much more I could do.

In other words, it felt right to leave. My head and heart had drifted off to another place once again, leaving my physical body in limbo. At this rate I wonder if I'll ever be able to settle in one spot for more than a year.

Wanderlust is definitely an addiction and I've had my fix for the time being. Because I live with this affliction, I dunno if I'll be able to lead the "normal" life of working a job for 40 years in an office, buying a car, house and whatever else the American Dream involves.

I'm in my element when on the move. I'm a stubborn, nomadic vagabond. I'm a lone wolf perfectly comfortable operating alone in a strange land. Travel gives me purpose and a sense of accomplishment.

Why would I ever move away from that?

There ends my story in France. I want to thank those of you who have followed along on this adventure. You all definitely know a little bit more about what goes on inside my own head. But keep in mind this is merely the end of a chapter, as new travels are approaching quickly.

Les Dunes de Biville

Les Dunes de Biville

22/6 - Greetings from California, and Pacific Standard Time. Thankfully the jetlag is no more. A new piece of photography equipment has joined me here, and the results are in the photo below.

Back home on the banks of the Sacramento River, accompanied by some new equipment.

I created this shot with the help of a neutral density filter, which is a darkly tinted piece of glass that covers the end of the camera lense; Think of it as sunglasses for the camera. By using this filter, I can limit the amount of light that enters the lense during a long-exposure shot in the daytime. The picture above took 20 seconds to complete. Without the filter, the picture would be much too light. 

Stretch run in Cherbourg, photo contests and a lighthouse

29/5 - Spring and summer have arrived in Cherbourg, with warmth and humidity. I've begun hearing the sounds of doves, which will always bring back the memory of Grandma Honey's house.

With the trek in Italy finished and no more travel on the horizon before my return to California in a few weeks, it's time to reflect on my time here with the help of hindsight.

As I sit at this cafe surrounded by the sound of British voices and watching horse-drawn carriages carrying tourists recording the ride with their phones, I find it difficult to organize and marshal my thoughts. There are many things I want to say, but I'm not exactly sure how to write them.

You all know the circumstances of my arrival. It was a low point, fresh off six months in the most toxic work environment possible. I was feeling ashamed and guilty of how the previous year in Porterville had played out and how I treated people during that time.

I was dealing with the fact I could not communicate because I didn't speak French. Self confidence was low. It was a difficult first couple of weeks because I had taken myself far outside of my comfort zone.

But, I persevered. I got comfortable in my new surroundings. It was an accomplishment to get the basics of French down to the point where I could "get by" because I started from zero. It was a gutsy decision to take on this adventure and if I could do it, anyone can.

Since I've spent almost two years of my life living in Europe, I can finally say with certainty that I'm ready to go back to California. The ravenous hunger for travel has been satisfied for now, at least around Europe. There are many places I've yet to visit on this continent and I will see them in time; I'm only 27 years old after all.

The thought has been in my head for a while. I've visited 23 countries in my life and seen some amazing things, but I've seen only a tiny fraction of the world (perhaps half of Europe). It's time to branch out. Asia is calling. South America. Africa. Australia.

31/5 - Throughout my time in France, I've written about what I perceived to be my purpose for being here, and how it was in a constant state of flux.

I had some expectations for what I'd focus on while being here, such as improving my work ethic and improving as a person; some of those were dead on. While I had some goals, at the same time I felt lost in the first few weeks here, like I was stagnating again. But I knew my actual purpose would reveal itself in time.

It did.

My second long-term stint in Europe taught me that it's no longer all about me, an only child who has only ever thought about himself. I've learned that true success comes from pulling more weight than necessary, and that's done by putting others first.

I've learned how to put aside my own emotions for the sake of appreciating a situation. Letting emotions of the moment dictate a decision is not OK because logic goes out the window. For this, I will thank world-famous works of art such as the Mona Lisa.

I've learned that when we work, whether it's for a job or personal, 100 percent of our mind, heart and soul must go into it; The intensity must be high. Otherwise, it would be a waste of time not only for myself but for my coworkers, employers and personal goals.

I write this as I sit against a large tree in Emmanuel Liais Park, listening to the fountain of cascading water in the pond and my bare feet in the grass. My time of self-imposed exile is coming to a close, and I can't do much but be thankful for the time I've been given. .

Cherbourg will always be my home. It has been such an important chapter of my life that semi-formed ideas for another tattoo that involve the crest of Cherbourg are floating around in my head. This was also the city where my interest in photography was awakened, and it's been a thrill to learn about the capabilities of this camera.

It has been helpful to enter photography contests and challenges online because I've been able to see the work of photographers much better than me. Their jaw-dropping shots give me inspiration. And short day trips to places close to Cherbourg such as Barfleur and Gatteville Lighthouse also provide plenty of opportunity to compose photos.

Road tripping in France and Switzerland with a familiar face

19/4 - It was around this time six months ago that I moved to France.

Six months in France.

So, to celebrate, I went on a road trip with my old friend Danny and his dog, Rocky over the Easter weekend. This was our third such road trip together, but this time we took a somewhat familiar route by driving south through France and ending in Basel, Switzerland.

It had been almost two years since the two of us drove north to Loch Ness, Scotland from Bournemouth, England, and exactly two years since we drove south to Italy, a distance of 2,200 miles. This time, I met him in Calais, after taking a train from Cherbourg and meeting total strangers in Caen to carpool four hours to Calais.

Though the trips were separated by two years, I noticed things haven't changed much with either of us. My emotions, the cause of so much anger and stress during my time in Milan and Genova, Italy, are still there. I'm still prone to submitting to moments of anger and annoyance, though this time they were much less noteworthy.

While my travel partner relies on his phone's GPS to a fault at times, there were moments when it seriously helped on this trip. Though there are many tolls throughout the major motorways of France, it helped us navigate in such a way where we avoided all tolls on our way back north by using smaller roadways, windy paths through damp and cloudy mountains, and one-lane roads through sleepy villages. It also helped us avoid the €50 toll at the Swiss border by simply leaving the highway and driving through the city streets of Saint-Louis, France to cross the border into Switzerland.

Both of us have accomplished a little bit since leaving Bournemouth University. We've grown into different people and collected vastly different experiences and stories, but we're still great friends. Though we do get along, there are times when we royally piss each other off like that couple who nitpick every aspect of each other.

The biggest difference now, though, is the newfound interest in photography for both of us. Danny uses a Nikon D5100 and I have the Pentax K-30, both DSLR cameras but with different capabilities, especially in regards to lenses.

I practiced with Danny's Nikon D5100.

The last time we pounded the open road, I didn't have the desire to stop every hour or so to take a picture. This time, however, I've been known to stop in random places and snap shots, such as when I waded into a field of yellow rapeseed flowers near Strasbourg, under a stormy sky. My pants got wet, my socks became soggy and my shirt attracted tiny yellow debris, but I snagged a cool picture or two.

This was a better idea in my head, and I never noticed the water droplets on my lense.

I didn't know the rapeseed flowers would be wet.

During the last road trip, I didn't have a child-like wonder of the sky. During this trip, the several hours driving in the general area of Nancy gave us a view of a spectacle in the sky, something that distracted me from my driving duties. The rays of the sun found ways around the clouds and down to the ground providing a natural spotlight for the ground below, like fingers from the sky curiously touching an unknown substance. It was incredible, and I was itching to pull the car over on the side of the road and put the camera to work.

Colmar - taken through the bars of a fence.

There was one point, just after sunset, when we drove along a long, straightaway road, next to several wind turbines in an open, green field. There were no trees. It would have been the perfect spot to shoot the sunset, but we were an hour late so the only thing breaking the black sky was some dark purple clouds on the horizon.

21/4 - It's also just about two years since Danny and I took that road trip from Bournemouth all the way down to Italy. For the past week, we've been driving, and driving...and driving. Or to put it more accurately, I've been driving because of Danny's lack of skill with the manual transmission.

Mont St. Michel is swamped with tourists during warm weather, but it's always fun to visit.

I've shown Danny the World War II sites in Normandy such as Omaha Beach, Utah Beach, Normandy American Cemetery, Pointe du Hoc and other tiny villages in the area. I showed him Mont St. Michel; it was my third time here and it was the warmest visit yet, despite the place crawling with tourists. However, that was Danny's birthday! Just like when my parents were here, it was fun to see the reactions of a person visiting for the first time. 

I've taken other photos of Les Braves, but not with the added benefit of a good camera!

When we arrived back in Cherbourg that evening, we witnessed the sunset from the top of the hill overlooking the city. It was magnificent, like when I looked upon Big Ben in London, in 2014, for the first time in a couple of years. From the wide angle, the thin clouds crisscrossed the light-blue sky, which eventually turned to pink, orange and red on the horizon. But from a closer view, the sky was nothing but orange and red. This 135mm lens makes all the difference because it can zoom in.

Taken from the top of Cherbourg at sunset.

There were many stops during the week: Strasbourg, Colmar, Basel, Kayserberg, castle ruins, and a bird show. There were big cities, touristy villages and opportunities to explore the area alone.  But the best part was having the opportunity to show a good friend my newest home.

Chateau de Kintzheim, once a castle, is now a bird sanctuary.

Kayserberg is a village nestled between two hills. There is a winery on the southern hill. 

There are castle ruins in Kayserberg, but I stumbled upon hiking trails which led me to this view. 

It also showed me that both of us admire what the other is doing. Danny is working in England and commutes to London once per week. He's supporting himself while traveling to many different places with his dog. He's ambitious with many business opportunities in his head and stays disciplined enough to steadily complete them. I, of course, have spent the past six months living in France, in near solitude, learning a new language and aspects of myself (and doing a little bit of travel). We each have respect for what the other is up to.

I also saw how Spanish is still a part of me, because I could understand the conversation between Danny and his mother. It reminded me that this has become a forgotten skill, one that needs attention. This will be something to work on over the summer.

22/4 - Danny left Cherbourg.

It was a blast showing my home to another friend. But as with most of my activities during my time here, I'm suddenly on the other side of it, looking back and reflecting. This is the temporary moment when I'm not quite sure what to do with myself, possibly because I feel melancholy that another adventure has passed. But I'm not sad that those road trips are finished.

As with everything so far, I'm just happy I was able to experience them.

There are other adventures on the horizon for me; until next time. 

Hindsight, family in Vichy and the language reversal

16/3 - Just like in Mexico and Spain, I now have family in France.

The Reichmanns and I did a lot of things this week, including shopping at the grocery store, having dinner with Phil and Genevieve, exploring the ancient village of Charroux, hiking the Puy de Dome volcano and having another large dinner with some of the same friends who had a wild party a week ago. But, one thing seemed to be a constant.

This was my attempt at recreating a postcard I found in Charroux.

Charroux is an ancient village. We bought a jar of rooster testicles on this street.

Puy de Dome is a dormant volcano near Clermont-Farrand.

All of us seem to be a good fit with each other. Upon stopping by quickly one night with Genevieve, Phil (who curiously lives about 50 yards down the street) commented on the good atmosphere we seem to have. We're comfortable with each other. It feels like I've slotted in as an older brother, because I've taken to keeping an eye on both of the kids.

Dany has gotten close, as he held my hand at the grocery store a few nights ago. Nathalie and Philipe asked me to carry Dany after he had fallen asleep during the dinner with Phil a few nights ago and the dinner tonight with more of their friends. I enjoyed having a small body snuggle into my shoulder while trying to keep the feeling of sleep and took pride in making sure he didn't lose himself in the grocery store.

I'm proud to say these were some of my favorite memories of Vichy. I've said before that I don't want kids because it will tie me down, but the idea is growing on me. I like the idea of taking care of another life more and more. And the memory of that sky-high voice asking a simple question will stick with me.

"Tu fais quoi?" What are you doing?

17/3 - There are many devices or experiences in the world that anyone can understand or relate to, even if they don't speak the same language.

Math is one. Love. Pain. Joy.

Laughter is another. I played foosball with the Reichmanns and their friends last night, and all of us were laughing hysterically, fueled in small part by alcohol. But in those few moments, all of us spoke the same language fluently.

We sat around the dinner table, drinking, sampling rooster testicles, laughing, hurling jokes, discussing the different ways one can refer to the male and female genitalia and giving me a bad time, especially about my beard. But it was nice because the family could see I was trying my best to speak in French, so they tried their best to speak in English. This reversal is a funny thing.

The fact I can't understand everyone immediately when speaking French is just that: a fact. Like a week ago, I accepted that and and relaxed. I felt in control again. It did not matter one bit that several of the women my age said the beard makes me look old (it does) and that smoking cigars is something an old man does (true). I just looked into their eyes, grinned and shrugged in a playful way.

As I ride the train away from Vichy, I reflect on what I've gained over the past six days. Other than stronger French skills, I've gained a new family. Like my family in Mexico and Spain, I look forward to the next time we cross paths.

I recently read about one way of finding inner peace and calm is to provide service to the community, to make yourself useful regardless of whether you get paid with money. My week in Vichy was a way for me to help my fellow human, and all of us benefited. Nathalie and Philip are better with their English and, like me with my parents in Paris, translating French to English for me helped them.

Nathalie, however, is better at English than her husband, as he usually looks to her when struggling to find the correct combination of words.

18/ 3 - It happens every time. When I reflect on what I've done through the prism of hindsight, I'm always amazed. March had always been shaping up to be a busy month, but it's been a whirlwind with my parents visiting and the exchange with the Reichmanns. Every time I finish some sort of trip or plan, I have that momentary moment of nostalgia, a melancholy feeling that I have nothing else to look forward to.

I had been looking forward to both of these for months, and suddenly I'm on the other side of them. My mind has been stretched once more. I think a better time to properly digest my experiences will be next week, as I'll host friends from England this weekend.

As a final thought, I took pictures yesterday in Paris while waiting for my bus. I found myself in La Defense, the area of the city with many tall and shiny skyscrapers. Once again, this camera has stunned me.

Tour EDF, the building that houses France's main electricity company.

A cruise, a photo and some humble pie

8/3 - As the violin and piano dueled, the lights on the Eiffel Tower seemed to be in the same chaotic tune, blinking quickly with frequency. 

As he sat there, transfixed by the sight, he was reminded by how fortunate he was. His parents sat opposite of him and without their help and influence, he would not have been on the boat then, or six years ago during a much different time. He owed everything to them.

Without his parents' help, he wouldn't be infected with the chronic travel sickness he is today. Without them, Planet Earth wouldn't have shrunk. Without them, he wouldn't have connections on every continent in the world (besides Antarctica). 

This was a first for him. Paris is a familiar city, as are the cheeses, escargot and merlot wine. But the fine dining on the Seine River, piano and violin, were not. At times, the melancholy sounds emanating from the instruments seemed appropriate during the cruise, however cliche they came across. All of this combined to humble him because if its absolute bliss. 

As they sailed down the Seine, he was again reminded of his desire to live in the City of Love, how he ached for a companion to sit next to him while he drew her close with his arm. Paris, just then, had passed London as the city he'd most like to inhabit.

10/3 - It was an honor and a pleasure to show my parents around Normandy and Paris. I've been lucky enough to be able to live here and visit Paris many times, but it was satisfying to help others see all of it for the first time. 

Perhaps it was fitting, then, that our last few moments together were spent battling the current of rush-hour metro foot traffic. I watched them struggle to get their luggage through the ticket barrier, then watched until they turned a corner and disappeared.

I had been waiting months to host them, excited to show them my new home. It seemed we were closer than ever, despite being farther away in distance. It seems they too have caught the travel bug, finally. 

France has been a place of firsts for me, and the discovery of photography has been another. There was one photo during the past week in Paris at the Palace of Versaille, that shocked even myself. I had never done anything like it. 

I found myself in a room with a work of art acting as the ceiling. I went to sit on the ground in the corner because it felt right. I'm starting to see that I can see a picture before I actually take out the camera; sometimes they look better in my head, other times not. 

But this picture was lucky. I took only two or three shots. As a result, my mother looks regal, like a model of a sophisticated photoshoot. 

I now have the fortune of keeping this camera for the next few months so I can practice with it. It will be fun to take it to Norway. 

But now, it's time for me to head south to Vichy, for the week of language exchange with the Reichmanns.