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January 1- 4 In Amsterdam we were glued to the window to get the glimpse of our precious girls. It was still dark as we arrived around 7 in the morning. The big moth of the plane was about 200m. away from us, but with our eagle eyes we could note details of the unloading process, at the end as we were giving up hope to see our three important boxes, they arrive, rolling down the side and loaded up on a little wagon. First Bobbi, then Duchess and Emma. I could see Duchess move her head in her curious way. It gave us enough comfort to see them all together, alive and with intact cages. We could detach from the glass and go to the next gate. Barcelona next! All in all, looking back, it was easy, dogs were good, more amazing KLM personnel. A bun, some cheese and the sunrise from our seat. Barcelona airport is worth just visiting alone! The delicate square stones, glossy and posh, vibrant with the warm tint from the earth around us. Fashion even at the airport, born of originality and flare. Thin, smoking fast speaking people. Sunshine welcomed us and we were done with airtravel for some time. At the baggage claim there were three belts and one desk with a few people. No special pick up place for travellers with three, big dogs. After having spoken to the lady in the room, she assures us that the dogs will be treated just like any luggage, no need to worry, they will arrive on the belt. - We look at casusell 42 and the small hole in the wall and trying to remember at the same time how big the cages really are.... I get images in my head with dogs running out without cages, wild barking, deformed cages...but after 20 minutes thay arrive one by one, in a line, perfectly intact, happy and healthy like us. I grabbed the nearest man and he helped lifting off the dog cargo, one by one obviously confused by the number of creatures i want off this belt. All in all we manage with one two layered huge trolley, with dogs and boxes, and an extra normal trolley. We wheel it along, with three princesses smiling to the spanish. The customs just waves us through after learning we are of Canadian decent...almost a let down, especially for Jonni, who has sweated over these papers for months. We were a moving circus, I should have brought a hat and learned from the fellows in gastown, and we probably would have financed our trip right there. We get a car, Jonni manages to pack us up, while I take the girls for their first sniff at Europe. On the road 250 something kilometers to go, ending up being the hardest of the trip. Wind so strong I thought we would lift up, but that was never the intention and we made it somehow to Cassanis. Jonathan gets all the praise for that, since I was asleep for the last few hours. Finally at Cassanis, after having knocked on the wrong door once, Hérve Boitel was there and we had reached our first goal, getting here. |
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January 5th We are in the country side, but not lost. Strategically placed in the wine valley, surrounded by rows of vines, sunflower fields, and orchards. About 15 minutes in a car, not even, into Gaillac, a charming little village with about ten thousand people. Our gité ( french country apartment) is wonderful with charming details that takes a day or two get used to. On the second floor one of the bedrooms have turned into a paint/yoga studio, the workroom, with wonderful view over the fields. Here the pink lentil content will be born to life. Downstairs we have a wonderful, big kitchen and a living room with a smokey fireplace. Our house is heated by our woodstove in the kitchen which gives the whole house a smell of toasty, crackling oak. The electricity is cleverly done by Hervé himself and have only a few warnings: always use plastic handles when you touch anything electric, easy to get used to really and the good thing is; you learn very quickly by mistake. On a rainy day, a bucket can strategically be placed under the bathroom door, and when you have a bath, don't fill it over the hole to the plug holder, since then you will be cleaning the kitchen at the same time. ( I only really did that once or maybe twice...) Cassanis-haut are two houses owned by two different people: Hervé (our landlord) and Jon and his wife Christine. Unfortunately they are no longer friends...it is a sad story that we probably don't know all the details off yet, but they have divided the land and for now they don't mix. We can't help thinking like Amelie, want to do the good deed, they are all such great people... Jon and Christine have 6 cats, X chickens, many geese, pigeons, peacocks sheep and a dog, Max. Since we moved here and started feeding their chickens our compost, we are weekly receiving fresh eggs from the farm, happy chicken eggs with yolks just like the sun. Captain H, Hervé, is an interesting man. A one toothed almost retired teacher from the north. He is stepping down from his life of being a teacher to become a host at the farm for people seeking change from busy city lives, getting in touch with their inner selves and wanting to experience the secrets of southern France. The farm is surrounded by rolling hills, vineyards and sunflower fields. Every Wednesday and Sunday we have to watch for hunting. Shotgun parts are found everywhere, something that makes a dogmother a little nervous. So on hunting days we are wearing bells and orange hats. Further down the street are my new love: the three donkeys and the white pony. They are lovely, warm, cuddly (especially if I have carrots). I love these creatures, they are so precious and sweet. (secretly, I think I want one) |
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January 12th Shiny greyish blue, newly re-built with French features. Eager to move, hungry for a new life. He is a Citroen 15C, and is now one of the main characters on our journey. Rudi is a basic car. Really - it is amazing to realize how little 'fancyness' you need. There is hot or cold air, the seat moves forward or backwards, the wiskers - on or off, in the rain it sounds like we are sitting in an empty beer can during an electric thunderstorm, hence the name. He is wonderful, sweet and reliable - a new friend. |
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January 16th Driving on curvy little country roads there are lots to see and smell in southern France. Even in January with the fresh air and the wet sticky earth. Out of nowhere with no warning behind the curve it appears, a tingling sensation... The pictures in the book that you thought were constructed by a young photoshop wiz, are there live in front of you. Looking more majestic then ever. Out of the earth rise the most charming stones forming a fort, enclosing cities, protecting the people just like a mother with love for her child. Hundreds of years have made the Bastides grow with the wind and sun. At certain areas you notice your self breathe carefully in fear of the walls crumbling beneath you. The Bastides are all over some more stunning then others, marking the French country side as gems of remembrance, just like a mediaeval orgasm. |
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January 20th I have admitted a long time ago that I am a bit of a hypocrite, loving the animals dearly, feeling like I become attached to them by observing them. But also loving that piece of meat wonderfully placed on my plate with the aroma of authentic spices and fresh herbs. I adore the wonderful large creatures happily and unknowingly looking at the clouds, having another mouthful of yummy, green country grass. The wonderful, big, brown creatures that we call ' beef' in the city, here they might call them Dagros or Bessie...talk to it, maybe even give it a hug on its soft, wet nose - before they stick the knife in their throat and serve it to you on a terra-cotta plate. They have lived and been happy for a while, but does it make it more right to eat them... The chickens don't have fur, I am attached to them differently, but as I get closer to them by daily feeding them our compost, I learn to recognize their personalities and the longer I look at them, the more I dispice liking the piece on my plate, organic or not. My new favorite is beet soup, maybe they have feelings too? |
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January 28th After weeks of rain, droplets pouring methodically from the sky day after day, sticky, terra-cotta coloured mud covering my boots, I think I am frantically looking for the signs of spring, anywhere. For a proof that time will change and warmth will come and with the rays of the sun transform the landscape to colourful paintings. I know patience seems to be my big problem, well it is not like I don't like the rain, it is just so apperant to the mood, when the weather turns, my body and mind feels so much more alert and happily awake. It must have heard me, since during writing this, the clouds took a turn and cracked open and in between the grey angry clouds full of moisture, the kind, gentle, blue is reaching its face out. We were out walking earlier, to introduce myself to our British neighbors: Bob and Doreen, when I spotted the first true sign of spring. Of course it was pink! Tiny small flowers on long, thin branches had produced these little gems. So I dare to hope! Spring is coming, the sun will dry up the mud and bright colours will enter the rolling hills. |
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