Photos from Le Bouquet

I have now officially added the term "goat herder" to my resume

The only escargot I'm likely to get here...

Daily cheese making.

Fresh milk each morning and evening

The little molds for fresh chevre

Travel Update

I have spent a huge amount of time waiting to speak to someone this week.  Because of these volcanic interruptions, I have had to hunt down my airlines to find out what the hell is going on with my flights.  But let's start at the beginning.

Saturday: I get a call from my father to wish me happy birthday and check in before my flight.  He tells me there is a volcano in Iceland that is keeping all the flights in Europe on the ground.  I think "WTF?" and call my airline, Jet Airways (not to be confused with Jet Blue), an Indian company and the cheapest way to get into Europe these days.  I speak to someone who tells me that, yes, some flights are grounded, but mine is not until Monday evening and this definitely should all be cleared up by then.  So I get on my flight to New York on Sunday morning, confident that I will be arriving in Marseilles Tuesday morning.

Sunday:  I fly from San Francisco to NYC to see my sister and take a connecting flight to France the next day.  We eat amazing food at Dinosaur BBQ in Harlem, have a lovely chat during dinner and I go to bed happy and assured that tomorrow my next adventure begins.

Monday: I wake up and book my shuttle to the New Jersey airport (it's a really long way from Harlem and my suitcase is disgustingly heavy).  I decide to call Jet Airways again, just to check and make sure everything is running smooth before I get there for my flight.  I wait on hold for an hour and a half.  Finally someone picks up the phone, but the connection is horrible and all I can hear is something about how flights are now being re-routed through Athens.  Then the line cuts out.  I think, "Well at least I can get over there," and try the number again.  FOUR HOURS LATER, I still have not had an intelligible conversation with a human being.  

During this purgatory of waiting I also get an email from my shuttle company saying that I cancelled my reservation and would I mind filling out a customer satisfaction survey? So I call the shuttle company and say, "What the hell?"  They tell me that the price quoted on the website was wrong so the computer automatically cancelled my reservation.  At this point, the company was fully booked.  They gave me the number for another shuttle service.  Great.  I book the other, more expensive shuttle service.  

As far as my flight is concerned, I decide to that all I can do at this point is go down to the airport and see what's what.  (I still have not talked to a human being.)  So my shuttle arrives, I lug my huge suitcase into the back of the van and settle in for the long ride to Jersey.  I travel exactly one block and my phone rings.  It's Jet Airways calling to tell me that my flight has been cancelled.  I wonder at the huge irony of this.  I have just spent $28 to go exactly one block on the shuttle, spent 5 1/2 hours on hold with this airline and two minutes before locked my sister's keys in her apartment.  Now I am stuck on a sidewalk in Harlem with a ginormous suitcase, no flight and a shuttle that is of absolutely zero use to me.  And, Marilyn from Jet Airways informs me, they have no idea when the flight will be rescheduled.  Maybe Thursday. 

Today: Jet Airways is now more than willing to fly me to Brussels.  Alas, dear Jenny, this is but one leg of your flight to cheese heaven.  Air Brussels (which is supposed to take me from Brussels to Marseilles) is being a real snatch-ho about getting me to France.  I called their customer service line about my great news ("Hey guys, I can be in Brussels tomorrow morning!") and those damn Belgians gave me the slap down; "Miss, this is a volcano.  We have no control over it and cannot tell you when we will be operating the flight into Marseilles (insert grating, condescending Belgian accent here)."  Me: "Can you guess?"  Snatch-ho: "We do not try to guess when it concerns the whims of nature."  Me: "So are you gonna call me when I can fly out?"  Snatch-ho: "No, there are too many passengers for us to call each one.  Check the website each day.  Pray that the Icelandic volcano god relents."

I'm thinking about sacrificing a seal.

Starting Again

I finally got around to having some film developed.   My sister gave me a Diana F--the type of camera that actually takes film...that you actually have to get developed.  Unlike most things these days, it's a process where there's a gap between the exposure and seeing the image you've created.  Isn't that a tempting metaphor?

I took all of my film in to be developed at once and it certainly had been accumulating.  There were five rolls of film, some of which I honestly could not remember taking.  So I get this grip of images and all I know for sure is that they were taken some time in the last year, they must have been of something I thought was important, and obviously I was present at that particular moment of light.

I just turned 29 this week.  My 28th year didn't treat me so kind, so I'm getting a little philosophical this birthday.  I'm starting to comb through the strands of my thoughts and trying to find some wisps of insight, some clues to keep 29 from repeating the mistakes of 28.  But I'm finding it just as difficult as putting a place and time to these rather abstract images.

I keep looking at these pictures and wondering where I was when I took them and what I was thinking and who I was with.  And, more importantly, what can I learn from them so that 29 is a happy year for me?

All these question seem particularly important since I am starting this year much like the last one.  Last year I began a year of journeying by coming to New York, doing a visiting tour of my family and friends, and then taking off for an indeterminate amount of time on an agricultural adventure.  So it was for year number 28 and so it shall be for number 29.  I really do not want to be just a skipping record.

The journey is experiencing some delays, however.  The plan: fly to France to stay at some farms and learn how to make goat cheese.  Last year I crossed the Pacific, this year I cross the Atlantic.  There's just one little snag: a pesky volcano in Iceland is keeping me USA-bound and I'm here in limbo, with too many strange pictures and too many questions.  As my friend Lu put it, I've got a little dust in my wings and its keeping me from taking off.  So here I sit to think and wait and, after 3 long months, take up this blog to untangle my thoughts.

Cassandra the Traveling Velociraptor

Me and Cassandra go back a couple years to a friend's birthday bash in San Francisco. She was originally just a party favor, tossed into the drink I was having that evening for a laugh (the dinosaur, not the friend). By the end of the night she had a name, a back story and a very special purpose. She is named for the prophetess from the Iliad, Cassandra, high-priestess of doom. In Homer's tale, Cassandra foretells the falling of Troy, but alas, no one believes her. Of course she loses her marbles when the city is sacked. Isn't it always a recipe for madness when we're speaking God's honest truth and no one will listen? So Cassandra, seer that she is, became the obvious choice for a traveling companion. Who better to tell you when you're about to get into trouble than a three inch plastic dinosaur? What could possibly be more useful on an adventure?

In a inexplicable twist of logic, she became the good luck charm and has gone with me on all important journeys since that party three years ago. Cassandra is now my only constant companion on my six month journey. While I wasn't traveling, she sat on my desk at work, beckoning me to get moving again. So now she has her wish...another grand adventure. It sure is a good thing she fits into my pocket so easily...the party favors that night could have been those obnoxious giant teddy bears that you win at the fair.

My first night in Hawaii, I put Cassandra on my dresser to get acquainted with the new digs. She instantly made a new best friend. A little iridescent blue and green bug was completely enamored of her. He just hung out, worshiping at the feet of her orangeness, long enough for me to take a gazillion pictures. When I switched rooms last week, he followed her. I like to think that the bug has a giantess fetish and that she is the answer to all is buggy dreams. We'll never know, but he sure does flip his long antennae around in a very courtly manner. I think if he had a little bow tie and the world's smallest bouquet of flowers, he'd bring them along when he comes to call. Cassandra appears, as yet, to be unmoved by his advances, but I think she'll eventually succumb. She's a persistent gal herself, so I think his ardor will win her over in the end. I'll be sure to keep all of you salivating masses of blog-devotees appraised of the romance.