How I love thee, Nuit Blanche

A few weeks ago, I went to Nuit Blanche in Toronto.

I wasn't disappointed.

The best art show: fake trees that shoot fire when you touch them at a specific area (like the trunk, the branches, etc).
Why do I love Nuit Blanche so much? I honestly can't explain it. The city is alive at three, four, five in the morning. People wander about, yawning, on the cold streets, as people draw or paint with insomniac-like energy. Maybe I love feeling alive, walking around in the early hours of the morning, watching people give way to their artistic drives.

I know Toronto isn't like this every day, but I fell in love with Toronto that night. It made me think of Woody Allen's film "Midnight in Paris". We love to fall in love, to be enamoured with, a memory, an ideal, an image.

That night, I fell in love with Toronto, with art, with the beauty of youth. Yes, it's an ideal... and yet perhaps it's vital. If we couldn't believe in certain "illusions", how would we survive? Or, should I say, how would romantics like me survive? No idea.

Stereotypes

Stereotypes have always been dangerous. Subconsciously or otherwise, we all apply them at some occasion in our lives.

For example, I was groggily walking to the kitchen early one Tuesday morning when I heard the vacuum cleaner roaring downstairs. Ah, I thought, the cleaning lady's here. I should meet her for once.

Why did I assume it would be a woman? It was a man! Bald, tattooed and showcasing a beautiful baritone voice (he likes to sing random opera lyrics at top volume as he cleans the bathroom).

I admit, I felt a bit dissapointed with myself for assuming it would be a woman. For months, I had said "the cleaning lady" to my housemates whenever we discussed the cleaning. So much for thinking I never applied stereotypes.

But are stereotypes inherently evil? A definition of stereotypes would be useful. According to one definition, stereotypes are "generalizations, or assumptions, that people make about the characteristics of all members of a group, based on an image (often wrong) about what people in that group are like" (http://www.colorado.edu/conflict/peace/problem/stereoty.htm). So in my mind, a person who cleans for a living is automatically a woman.

I've heard many stereotypes. Asians are hardworking, Americans are friendly and stupid, Canadians are annoyingly polite, Germans eat too much, Swedish people are suidical. Some stereotypes are funny, some not.

In any case, I'd like to think that some stereotypes are, if not good, then at least useful to social interaction. If we never had any preconceived notion of a social, ethnic or religious group, would we honestly interact with them better? Would we really be more open to their mentality, culture and history? It's an experiment I'd like to attempt.

Life changing decisions

Yes, we all know about them. Unfortunately.
Those "life changing" decisions, which are supposed to guide you to the best career you ever might have.
Work has defined our generation. Although we are, comparatively, not as bad as the workaholic Baby boomers, we certainly have been sucked up in the never ending vaccum called work. We build our routine around work, placing family and friends in second place. One of the best ice breakers in a conversation is not "what's your passion?" but "what do you do for a living?"
Okay, maybe "what is our passion" is a bit over the top for normal conversations. But the fact remains that work has become a defining feature, a way to present ourselves to society.
I don't just want to moan. Work has been known to be good for human sanity, an antidote to boredom. "It's just a job" can be to many "it's the way for me to feel important".
So what can we conclude about work and our jobs? Important, yet over-valued? Essentiel, but ruling over our social life?

"I do"

I just went to one of my best friends' wedding. Picture small Ontario village, nestled by hills, an adorable white United church and the view of the lake. It was great.
The bride, as I expected, was beautiful. The groom, without a fault, was distinguished.
I've never been one who cries a lot, from either intense joy or pain. I remember watching the beloved film "The Titanic" with my cousin. When she burst into tears at the famous scene, I sniffed loudly and tried to look moved. It didn't work.
So I wasn't expecting to burst into tears and muddle my way through the ceremony. I was surprised.
When my friend walked down the aisle, I turned like everybody else and watched this beautiful red-head walk down in her satin dress. Without any warning of any kind, I suddenly had a surge of emotions rush from my gut to the bottom of my throat, or at least that's how it felt like. I wasn't sure if I was going to laugh, cry or vomit... or all three.
Thank God, I managed a feeble smile and everything went on fine.
Weddings, of course, are a major affair. A way of showing to the person you love the most in the world that you want to spend the rest of your life with him or her. They are also a rite of passage, a more fundamental way of revealing yourself as an adult, as an individual, as a bound being.
Many of my friends wouldn't think about getting married. Some have been disillusioned by the rates of divorce or horror stories, others find the matter too complicated and binding. On the other hand, other friends are ready to commit themselves for life.
When the couple exchanged vows, I was struck by the seriousness of the affair (not that it had escaped my notice before). To pledge, in front of your family, friends and the being you believe in, that you are prepared to stand by the other for ever is really the most anyone can pledge. An act of love, an act of courage, an act of blind hope, an act of beauty.

Terrified

We are all "terrified".
In some way or another, we are all scared of something.
I don't mean phobias. I mean that, on an almost common basis, we are confronted by our common fears.
The most common? I suppose it is the most human and most normal fear of being rejected, eschewed, laughed at. I see it every day, although it may be "masked" behind self assurance, etc.
I thought leaving high school would initiate me into the adult world, a great and wonderful place where people are mature, thoughtful, caring, and understanding. Big mistake, in one sense.
The biggest mistake I may have committed was that, in reality, I thought that becoming an adult would mean becoming mature and thus becoming more understanding of our human species, which is, realistically, difficult.
But in the end, is it bad to acknowledge that one is scared? That one doesn't know? Perhaps a rhetorical question.

"I'll be your man"

It may have been statistically proven, but it does seem to, for once, actually make a stereotype true. Namely that women like to feel they have a strong, dependable, reliable, independant, mature, self-guided man in their lives.
Rather strange, since men in their twenties have been known, again possibly statistically, to be slower to mature than women.
Many friends sigh when they see a male movie star on TV and say: "Why can't my boyfriend be like him? Why can't he simply grow up?"
What do guys say? I'm curious. Do women seem too mature? Too demanding? Too difficult?
So listen to James Blunt's "I'll be your man". To my female hormonal ears, I swoon. To a man? I'd like to know.

Relationships in general

I doubt anyone can argue that relationships are easy. They're messy, difficult, bruising, and paradoxically beautiful and fun.
I've been hearing from a number of frustrated friends lately. About? Boyfriends and girlfriends.
It seems to me that, in one's twenties, a lot of people I know and have befriended have swung either one way or another. Let me explain. Many of my friends have proclaimed their immortal love to their boyfriends or girlfriends, going as far as marriage, while others have shied away from any relationship, continually saying: "I like to keep things simple. I don't want to put a label on our relationship."
Translation? I want to see (aka go to bed with) other people. I want to see you, but I want to see other people.
Why does this make my blood boil? I'm not sure. After all, we are in our twenties, this is the time to party, to experiment, to live life to the fullest. However, to use an excuse as "I don't want to put a label on our relationship" seems weak to me.
Love and sex are a mess, it seems, for this generation, and probably for a number of others. Don't get me wrong, sex is definitely important, but so is love. What confuses me is that many of my friends ask "have you done it?" while few, is any, ask "are you in love?" Has love become obsolete, kitsch, ridiculous, embarrassing?
Well, that's the extent of my thoughts on relationships. Comments anybody?

The beast within

At a class I'm currently attending, my teacher said: "We all have an animal side and a more civilized, controlled side. It's our decision, at almost every moment, to choose which side we want to show to society."
Can anyone agree with this? In today's society, we seem to privilege the "wild" side of ourselves, yet on the outside we all present a reserved façade, a "normal" face. In other words, we say: every day, be focused, concentrated, a bit formal if you must, be professional and cool. But, if you want to be cheered on by friends and even family, be wild and let yourself go.
Think of "So You Think You Can Dance". All right, it's dance. Maybe it doesn't count. Be that it may, dancing is still performing and expressing oneself, and the more free and "wild" you appear, the more people seem to connect with your performance.
There's nothing wrong, at all, in showing one's "beast within". I would even advocate that being controlled and "civilized" is at best respectful, at worst boring.
I have to admit, I find the paradox confusing. Be cool and professional with strangers and party it hard with loved ones, is that the message?

On love

How can be define being in love? What is "being in love?"
Sure, we hear about it in love songs, watching soap operas, reading books.
When I was younger, I searched this incredible feeling I kept reading about. This heart-throbbing, confusing, over-whelming feeling which would make my world go wild.
The good news is that for me, it's finally happened.
But what is love? All right, I'm only 23, relatively young and definitely unexperienced in "love" matters.
I remember annoucing to my family that I was in love at seven. I did have a boyfriend at such an early age, but I can't call it love. It was curiosity, a faint hint of lust perhaps, but definitively not lust.
Some people search for lust. Others search for love. Still others look for a melange of both.
Both, I think, are essential. No lust, no sex drive. No love, no respect.
Sounds simple, and yet life isn't at all that simple. Wish it were.

Dance

I will say it: I love to dance. There's something oddly beautiful, liberating, and freeing about dancing. I can finally let go. I can finally show the world who I am, without trying to "pamper" my façade, without trying to be someone I am not.
I occasionally wonder about dancing and how it has changed over the years. In Jane Austen's time, dancing was communal. Watch "Pride and Prejudice", "Sense and Sensibility", and you'll see how everyone, old and young, ugly and beautiful, are included.
In our modern day society, dancing has become clubbing. I know only too well how it's not for everyone. You can end up dancing with a total stranger and feel uncomfortable. You might have to dance on tables. But then again, I sometimes wonder... why not?
I'm not advocating for clubbing. I am, for sure, saying that dancing has a wonderful way of letting me see the beauty in people which, for some odd reason, they hide.
People have gorgeous bodies. Why hide it?
So says a Mennonite-raised girl, who has also been exposed to Québécois culture and who has always been encouraged to express herself.
So in the end, what am I trying to say?
Maybe this. Dancing is the most wonderful way of letting go, of showing to yourself and to the world, that you are beautiful, and that you WANT to sprint along life's rhythms.
So.... absolutely, I will say... I love to dance.

Relations between people

What do you feel when you meet a person for the first time? Scared, impressed, intimidated, cocky?

I don't think I can ever forget when I was taught about handshakes. It has to be firm, not too hard to crush the other hand, but firm enough to translate confidence.

Is this another North American trend? Or is it too simple and rather simplistic to call this North American? Why do we like or, rather, why are we obsessed with seeming self confident? A weak handshake, a feeble smile, a nuanced and unclear opinion are all sneered at.

I don't know what to feel about this. If we can't successfully make eye contact, we have a problem. If we can't dress accordingly, we are called losers. Society is hard and harsh. So what's the solution? Wish I knew.

Art and expressing myself

A few days ago, I was walking around Sherbrooke's Lac des Nations, and was stopped by an artist asking me if I would be interested in being a model for his photography project.

So, my first reaction was- no. I'm against any form of modelling. As a North American society, we have had our fair share of skinny, bronzed, "sexy" models who make "normal" girls grapple with self esteem and their body image. Why add to the destruction to our self image?
Until I found out that this photographer is against such images. I met him this evening and learned that being open to photography, being open to being photographed, is more than just having one's picture taken. I felt exposed, but it was a strangely liberating experience. I felt like I was saying: "This is me. This is who I am."

This is what we need. Not pictures of frighteningly skinny women in skimpy clothes. We need a revival of what we describe as beauty. I see beautiful women every day, as well as men, on the streets. I would name beauty as a way of being, not a way of displaying onself to society. No matter how you dress or how much make up you wear, if you don't have confidence in yourself and have a skip in your step, you don't have that special something I call beauty.

But then again, beauty is subjective. We can't talk about beauty, since it is a question of taste, as beautiful women in Japan are not considered pretty in South America for example.

So what can we conclude? I'm not sure, to be honest. "Ugly" people get terrible treatment, which I see on a daily basis. Plainer looking women get poorer service at restaurants, for instance. Is this fair? No. But then, the sad truth is that beauty does add to your life in many wonderful ways. Maybe all this is only a part of the "unfairness" of life. Instead of moaning about this though, all I can say is: every human being has at least a grain of beauty within himself or herself. And developping it is the best way to being yourself.

Is this a secular age?

All right, I lied. I said this was the end of the travel blogs, but I seem to have become used to sharing my thoughts, and the process of writing is reassuring and positive, so... here are a few more random thoughts about my favourite subject, religion.
Are we really living in a secular age? Is religion only a dying subject, prone to ridicule and sneers? Is spirituality the "new" religion? In Quebec, where Catholicism seems to be only practiced by the older generations, maybe I'm looking for answers in a particularly sensitive area.
Charles Taylor, in his provocative and dense book "A Secular Age", thinks there are two kinds of people, namely believers and non-believers. Is this right? What happens to people who believe in a higher power (like a number of my friends) but not in God? Frustrated by the Catholic Church's errors and embarrassing sexual past, Quebecers seem to be confused when I say I'm religious. Why would I believe?
Religion is a diccy issue. When I say I'm doing a Masters in Religious Studies, I either get stares or polite comments like "oh... how interesting." Far from the reaction I got when I studied law.
On the other hand, look at world affairs. Islamic adherence is on the rise, as is religious fanatacism, unfortunately. Just as unfortunate, the Norwegian police have just arrested a man they suspect killed 91 people, supposedly because he hated Muslims. Religion can't be dead if people commit such acts. What really makes my blood boil is when people blame religion for violence. "The Crusades, the 9/11 terrorist killings, all of it is due to religion." I've heard this too many times to count and would like to address this argument. Religion, just like politics, can be warped and corrupted by officials. We can't blame Catholicism and its beautiful theology, we should blame the Pope or the priests. Don't label Islam as a fundamental religion.
Well, that's all for now. Any thoughts?

Florence con mia mama

I'm not sure what I expected from Florence, but I can't say I was disappointed.
First of all, I was treated to a Tuscan farmhouse with my mother. Imagine, if you can, armies of crickets, fields of olive trees, 40 to 45 degree weather, a pool, and Florence in the distance. I thought I was in paradise.
Sure, a few things went wrong right off the bat. After I met my mother at the Santa Maria di Novella train station, we took the city bus, and got lost.
Getting lost in Florence is not fun. Asking people for directions is... difficult. Very friendly, Florentines seem more than willing to help but many seem to have conflicting ideas of how the city is structured. We followed an elderly man's instructions and found ourselves in a tiny, dirty alley with washing hanging from the windows. Not our final destination.
After many complications, we arrived at the Tuscan farmhouse. Our apartment, called "Melograni" (pomegranate in English) was perfect. Dark wood highlights, antique furniture, white stucco walls, and a view of Florence.
The next day, we marched down to the bus stop (a good forty minutes walk) and headed for Florence.
This city, originally designed by Florentine artists to be perfect in shape and size, is confusing. Although the streets or Vias run parallel to one another in seemingly perfect logical order, the number of the houses do not. For example, you can easily find house number 43 next to house number 10. Is there any logic to this? I don't think so.
Art abounds in Florence. I saw Michelangelo's David (perfect but HUGE compared to what I had in mind), Giotto di Bondone's Madonna and Child (Giotto being a personal favourite artist of mine) and countless churches. My favourite? Santa Croce. This church, once you enter it, offers the most wonderful sense of space. Instead of being filled with Rococo features (not my thing), it is white and calm. On the ends are gigantic marble statues standing on tombs of famous artists, composers, writers, and so forth. I liked Dante's. Tiny chapels on the far ends are decorated by breath-taking frescoes. I loved every part of it.
I won't lie: Florence is chaotic, busy, dirty, noisy, and beautiful. I saw beggars praying with their faces literally placed onto the hot asphalt streets. I saw women buying 300 Euro dresses by Gucci. I saw elderly men zipping by on their Vespas.
Staying for six days in Florence provided a great way of seeing every possible part of it, or at least to my satisfaction. The Uffizi Palace, comparable to the Louvre, made me dizzy. The Vecchio Palace's Hunting Gallery room, presenting the most horrific battle scenes anyone can imagine, gave me nightmares. The proud owner of a delicatessen which has been in his family business since 1512 made me smile.
So, in short, Florence is a gem of artistic splendour, of societal chaos, an artist's labour of love. No wonder Florentines are proud of their city. Che bella, si!
This travel blog comes to an end, dear friends. Thank you for reading, for any comments, and for sharing my experiences. This hectic, frightening and wonderful trip has made me grow in ways I never thought I would. Let's hope more adventures are coming.

Croatia- paradox of beauty and chaos

After a terrible journey on the train, we arrived in Split, Croatia. The train journey needs some mentioning. Having left Vienna and arrived in Zagreb at midnight, we boarded the train to Split near one in the morning. Imagine a tiny train that groans, creaks, and makes belching noises. It looked like a war train from the Second World War.
Once we had hauled our bags on the train, we were told there were no seats. We ended up sitting on our suitcases in the corridor, being lurched from side to side. I saw a crying mother hold her baby in her arms, sitting on her suitcase. What a journey.
After an hour, I took a walk along the corridor. I finally ended up in a carriage, practically empty. How come we were told the train was empty?
When I asked the conductor about the empty seats, he threw his arms up angrily and hurried away. I had to bargain and bribe him to finally get seats that mysteriously became "free" for an extra ten euros...
The next day brought more joy. We took the ferry from Split, a beautiful city, and ended up in Vela Luca, a small harbour village which boasts turquoise water, grilled fish to die for, good wine and rocky beaches. Croatia is, to be sure, beautiful. The rocky mountains, the ever changing colour of the sea, the taste of salt on your skin, the deafening sound of crickets... this is Croatia. We spend our days lounging in our apartment, lying on the beach, singing and playing the violin (my friend is a violinist) and drinking good wine.
It is also chaos and panic. You have to fight to get what you want. People are friendly, but I also get the feeling we are indisposing them as tourists. I often feel like an annoying mosquito. Strange feeling....
So far, my vocabulary has been limited to "dobar dan" (good day) and "hvala" (thank you). Let's hope it will expand soon.
So this is Croatia, a mixture of breath taking beauty and chaos. I often feel like I am in paradise (when in the water) or in hell (on the train). In any case, it is... great.

Innsbruck, the city of mountains

Fresh air, beautiful views, breaktaking scenery! Wilkommen in Innsbruck.
I arrived, after a harrowing seven or so hour train trip, to Innsbruck, and am already refreshed.
So what can you do in Innsbruck? Hike! Armed with bread and cheese, I took the cable car yesterday, taking me up to Hungerburg, a station up in the mountains. It was a bit daunting to look at the hundreds of routes possible to me. How do you choose? Healthy-looking, red-faced Austrians mountain bike, climb and hike along these routes, taking a break at the local Gaststube with a glass of beer. I finally decided to simply get lost (I am very good at that) and ended up in a field of cows, all of them staring at me curiously. So I threw myself on the grass, took out the bread and cheese (Austrian Gouda by the way is incredible) and lay in the sun.
Speaking of the weather, it is HOT here. About 36 degrees Celcius, no clouds... for me, a lizard, it's great.
Today I decided to be a bit more daring and climbed up higher with the cable car. Destination? Seehohenburg. At first, I thought I had come to the wrong station. It looked like a deserted ski station. And it was. Gazing at the rocky mountains about me, I wondered at first how I was even going to be able to get to them. Talk about steep.... but somehow or other I managed to put one foot in front of the other, very carefully and holding my breath, and gradually making progress along a thin, jagged path along the cliff. Luckily, I don't suffer too severely from vertigo.... When I finally sat down on a stop that seemed "flat", I looked up and found out I was surrounded by sheep and goats!
So what do I think of Innsbruck? Love it. The fresh air, the blue mountains, the milky white river, the golden roof or Goldener Dachl, the city's source of pride.... all of Innsbruck has allured me.
My German is getting better, but now and then, exhausted by the continuous strain of not making a grammatical mistake, I lapse into English, sometimes producing funny situations. In a health store today, I asked the shoplady in English if they sold soap. She nodded and led the way to... the soup counter! I looked at her for a minute and then burst out laughing. For some Austrians, the way to pronounce "soap" is basically the same as "soup". Love it!
One more day in Innsbruck and then off to Hall in Tirol. Ah, the life!

Reflecting on food, stereotypes and Austria

I embarked on a small excursion yesterday. Destination- Krems, a small town nestled in the Austrian mountains. I immediately felt relieved when walking along the cobbled streets, since as most people know, I am definitely not a city person. Place me in a quiet country-side setting any time. Krems was, then, a perfect destination.
The churches are to die for. I kept randomly discovering one
after the other, from Baroque to Gothic. Some were tidy white churches with minimalist charm, others were grandiose heavily gilded golden ones. My favourite: a large church with a gorgeous organ, and eerily realistic wooden statues of Christ.
Carnivores are made for Austria. Or Austria is made for carnivores. Either way, as a vegetarian, I have to laugh when I read menus. Pigs' feet, stuffed veal, roasted Taffelspitz (a local delicacy... Austrians love meat. At the supermarket, I asked an employee if they sold fish. Cocking an eyebrow, she took me past a splendid meat counter and pointed at two packets of frozen fish. "That's it?" I asked, trying to keep the dissapointment from my voice. She nodded energetically. Ah, the joys of being vegetarian.
Apart from meat, what do Austrians eat? One of my favourite dishes is Spinatnockerl, a dish of spinach dumplings in cream sauce. Sounds heavy? Absolutely. Other classics are strudel, which also come in the salty variety, either spinach, ham or asparagus strudel, again in cream sauce. I suppose the heavy dishes explain why Austrians are stereotyped as heavy, robust, good-natured, bon vivants. Yesterday, a holiday, the residents of Krems walked about in their Trachten, the traditional Austrian dress for women and Lederhosen for men (molto sexy... not) and enjoyed beer at terraced cafes. I love them.

Vienna und das kitsch

Greetings from Vienna! I HAVE ARRIVED.
After 12 hours of travelling and being on 2 planes, I finally arrived in Vienna.
So how is Vienna, and what do I think about it? Big, hot, and beautiful. The women are impeccably dressed, the buildings resemble wedding cakes, and good natured "Gruess Gott" or "good day" make me really feel like I am in Vienna.
Walking along the streets yesterday, I was struck by a certain duality. What duality? The sharp dissimilarity between kitsh and authenticity. You can get real Gucci glasses on the famous "Graben" square, or you can get fake Gucci glasses down the street from my apartment. You can listen to authentic musicians performing Mozart sonatas at the Opera house, or you can be led astray by people dressed like Mozart chasing you (a man chased me this morning) assuring you this is "the real thing". People may call this kitsh. The word "kitsch", originally in German, appeared in the XIX period and has been adopted by languages internationally. Milan Kundera, in "L'insoutenable legerete de l'etre", wrote a beautiful sentence about kitsch: "Le kitsch exclut de son champ de vision tout ce que l'existence humaine a d'essentiellement inacceptable". What does he mean by this? Whatever is kitsch, we think, is a sloppy copy of the authentic. But isn't there some beauty in a copy? Why are we so obsessed with authenticity?
So I am trying to embrace kitsh. Vienna is a city of paradoxes. Slender women dressed in Prada saunter along next to Arab women dressed in run down clothes pulling children along. Fruit and vegetables are either incredibly fresh (found only at specialty markets you have to know) or are wrapped so tightly at Billa, the Supermarket in Vienna, they make the Communist era goods look good.
I have a feeling a lot of people here don't feel like they belong. At the supermarket yesterday, a woman wearing the veil approached me timidly and asked, in even more broken German than my own, if the drink she held in her hand had alcohol. It was juice. When I assured her it did not contain alcohol, she gazed at the bottle confusedly. This woman probably lives in Vienna and can't even understand the ingredients, written in German, on a bottle of juice.
Vienna is offering me another image of itself on this trip. It is poetic, beautiful and stuck in the past, but I am seeing other parts of it too.One image, most particularly, struck me yesterday. Sitting on the subway, I looked at a couple near me. The lady, a petite reahead, wore a fluffy black tutu, a string of fake golden pearls, seven inch heels,crossing and uncrossing her tattooed legs continually. In her lap slept "Schnufli" as she called him, a tiny chihuahua. The man, huge and bearded, had his arm around her shoulder. They seemed, at least by the way they were dressed, to be fighting tradition, to be wild, to be "free". Together, they cried out to me: This is as much Vienna as the opera, or fancy clothes, or the famous chocolate cake, or a horse drawn carriage. You can't reduce Vienna to cliches. Vienna is the city of music and love, but it is a lot more. A duality of authenticity and kitsch, of tradition and modernity, of common sense and wildness. I love it.

Time in space

Some people love flying, others hate it.
Personnally, I have always enjoyed airplanes and even, dare I say, airports. There is something exciting about walking about in airports, hearing foreign languages spoken, being in a state of total exhilaration and truly living in the moment. When I was a child, we used to take the plane a lot, due to the amount of moving we did as a family. I would grasp my beloved toy dog "Chien Chien", close my eyes tight, and count to ten as the plane took off. My stomach would turn as the plane lifted off the ground. It was, and is, one of the best experiences I have ever had.
Some people claim that being in the air allows them to "think". I love looking at the clouds, changing from fluffy white cotton balls to full grown grey matter. Being in the air is a time to clear the mind, to be... how can I put it.... think-free? We are slaves of the mind, continually thinking, assessing, calculating. To be free of thought, to clear the mind, is not so easy. Some turn to meditation, others to intensive excercice, others to sleep, to avoid thinking.
A good friend of mine, knowing I am off to Europe, shared a link about Le Petit Prince. Watching the clip, I was amused at the grown up prince, in his plane, singing "I need air!" Disgusted by the adults who affirm that the elephant within the boa constrictor is a hat, the little prince takes off to be in the air, to share the sky with God, as he says in the clip.


I haven't even left yet, but thought I should post one more blog, since, yes folks, there are more changes to my trip which I must mention.
Change number 1: I am not going to France.
Change number 2: In lieu of replacement, I am going to Croatia.
My reaction: Why not?
At first, the idea of not visiting France, which to me means baguette, crunchy croissants, fourme d'Ambert.... I will stop there.... was dissapointing. That said, Croatia now seems just as enticing. For those who have not had the chance to see this gorgeous country, I would say the three attractions I love are fish, sea and sun. Long beaches, sun-drenched villas covered by bougainvillea, fish markets that never end.... voila Croatia.

I would venture to say that time spent on the plane is not just time spent travelling. It is a time to disconnect, to perceive reality from another angle, to float among clouds. As I will be on the plane tonight, I will hum the tune on the clip: "I need air!"
P.S.: In case anyone is interested, the picture on this page is one I took in Verona, Italy. Just to give a foretaste....

Time for some adventure

For those people to whom I have talked to in the past couple of months, you all know I am about to embark on another crazy, reckless annual adventure. So this blog is created for you, friends, to follow me as I undertake solo adventures in Austria, France and Italy. This means leaving beloved friends and bf in Sherbrooke, family in Sutton, the comforts of Canadian living, and trading in for new cultures, new food, and so on.
So why did I call this blog "Spain pilgrimage"? Fear not, I haven't lost my marbles yet. Plans changed at the last minute, my best friend Lea couldn't come with me, so I glanced at a map of Europe and, after sensible advice from my ever-wise father Fred, chose to tour France. Cities on my list? So far: Albi, Carcassone, Chartres, Corsica and Avignon.
Is this still a pilgrimage? Definitely. Even if this won't be a heroic, back-breaking pilgrimage on a dusty road, this will be a pilgrimage to a French cathedral. Very probably Chartres.
One might ask why do a pilgrimage in the 21st century. After all, we are all individualistic humanists, geared towards technological and scientific accomplishments, aren't we? Haven't we successfully turned our back to religion? Wrong, I dare to say. Yes, secularism is the state of modern society. But no, that doesn't mean we aren't looking for the "meaning of life". Look at ashrams in Tibet flooded by confused Occidentals, look at yoga-practicing Americans and Canadians, look at the never-ending flow of books being written about spirituality. Let's face it: religion may not be today's obsession, but spirituality is.
This blog will try to incorporate both. I would define myself as both religious and spiritual, and heading by myself to seek European cathedrals should awaken some questions within me which I hope will create some reactions. 
Once this journey begins as of June 19th, friends, let me whet your appetite with Vienna, city of music and culture, and then allow me to whisk you through the Austrian Alps. Next up: northern Italy (Turin) and architecture. Main course: a week in Corsica, French island bathed in sunshine and blue skies. Dessert: French towns (mentioned above), French culture and French food of course.
That's the menu offered. I hope it draws you close!