Hive Mind Travels

I'm not sure if anyone's reading this anymore, our trip is over, but don't know quite where else to write.

We found out today that Justine, the sweet woman we stayed with when we arrived in Paris in October, died in an accident on February the 6th.

Justine was the perfect beginning to that chapter in our lives. Suddenly materialized in a country where everything was a puzzle to us, the language, the food in the grocery stores and the geography and the manners, she provided a calm and upbeat entree into not just our vacation and France, but our traveling culture. She introduced us to her friends, walked the city us, poked into art galleries with us, cooked with us, taught us French, let us teach her English, and, that rarest of things in a new friend, was comfortable being silent with us.

She had a simple bravery (example: inviting two perfect strangers to live in her apartment), a demure passion, an unassuming openness.

Nothing about grief is easy, but I feel especially adrift in mourning her, because of the way she passed through our lives and we through hers. To their eternal loss, no one here in Seattle knew her, so we have nobody to remember her with, no one to shoulder the sadness with us.

We lit a candle in Seattle for you. And we will miss you.



More pictures of Justine here. Our blog posts about her here here, and here.

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Could be the last post from abroad. We're spending the night in Barcelona. Tomorrow we'll stock up on books and food for the plane, then fly Barcelona -> London -> (drum roll please) Seattle.

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Quote of the Day

The police came and burned my cave. But it's OK, they didn't burn my guitar or my kevlar.

My understanding is that it is rude to mention the The War to the Germans, so I am striving to avoid insinuating invasion, connoting conquering and certainly blurting "blitzkrieg", but it is hard, I tell you, hard, when, in the furthest reach of Spain, a small island off the coast of Africa, I am surrounded by men and women calling after their tow-headed little ones in the guttural chop of Deutsche. We have been here close to a week and have yet to meet another North American.

Yes, La Gomera is La Germanita. Ernst, we need you! As a vacation spot for sun-starved Europeans, the Canary Islands make brilliant sense. By far the southernmost reach of the EU, this sub-tropical volcanic archipelago is perennially warm, rarely dipping below 60°F on winter nights. Why the Germans in particular have made it their haus away from haus, you'll have to ask the blond, leather-skinned hippies living in the hills.

Probably, though, it has something to do with the mountains. While the jungle-like laurel forest is unique, the towering peaks and diving valleys must remind them of their beloved Bavaria. La Gomera is ringed with sharp-rocked cliffs and has only a handful of swimmable beaches (one of which we have settled ourselves 100 m from, and on which I type these words), but the center is an alpine roller coaster. Every day, the streets and hills are filled with Germans, young and old, in boots and backpacks, collapsible walking poles wrapped around wrists.

Our hike Thursday, for example, started us in the cloud-clenched mountain-top of Parque Nacional de Garajonay in the midst of a forest that would, with its lush wet greens, make the Hoh Valley seem like Sahara (which, by the way, has spared us the choking clouds of dust it occasionally sends this way). The Canary Islands have the last bit of laurel forest that covered the Mediterranean up until the last ice age and La Gomera's is the biggest, and it is choke full of species found nowhere else, notably succulents.

Descending from the forest, you move through many different ecosystems in just a few hours: moss-wet laurel gives way to low, dry scrub gives way to banana palm clad coast as your legs tire of down, down, down. Old, stone houses dot the paths and goats, chickens and sheep wander freely.

The town we're staying in, Valle Gran Rey, is small and charming, as well. The living is cheap and easy, and rolling a close second in population to the Germans are the hippies (albeit often German hippies) that have made the beaches their home. In a delightful surprise, theft seems virtually unknown and there is no panhandling or hawking. With food cheap and the beaches comfortable for sleeping, not much is needed. Instead, days are spent bodysurfing and lounging and the evenings are filled with juggling, music, and laughter.

We've met a few folks, since we arrived last week. Some hikers we fell in with on our walks or whom we picked up hitchhiking, as well as Marchello, a talented self-taught (from watching videos on YouTube!) firespinner (who had never heard of Burning Man, we were shocked to learn).

Marchello has been living on the island off and on for a few years, and until last year lived, along with a large community of hippies, in caves on the south coast. Apparently, though, a criminal (not from the community) tried to use it as a place to hide, and the police decided to clear it out, so after decades of living, the caves were emptied and destroyed. He seemed sanguine about the whole experience, though, thankful they chose not to burn his guitar or poi.

(PS A little bit more about the forest over at the Bee Blog)

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Somehow, a month has slipped by us here in Florence, and it's time to leave. We wrapped up our stay by hosting an American-style Sunday brunch for the friends we've made while here. Michelle made french toast with real maple syrup and scrambled eggs with basil, mushrooms, peppers and feta, we had mimosas and coffee and tea and a pile of Italian cookies and pastries and other yummies. Fifteen or twenty folks came and frolicked, some braving the rare snowfall that had drifted down into the hills outside of Florence. All in all, it was just the best send off two homesick travelers from the States could have asked for. Thank you to all our Italian friends, looking forward to seeing you when we meet again!

Next, we head to La Gomera in the Canary Islands, off the Northwest coast of Africa, where it's warm, warm, warm. Here's what Google Earth says the little town we'll be staying in looks like. Our only problem is that we didn't expect to go anywhere this warm, so we're a bit underprepared in the clothing department. Ah well, such problems are good ones to have.

And then...home!

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We popped up to Venice for the day and found it very, very refreshing. Of course, you see the Grand Canal as you walk out of the train station, so there's that, but as we walked around the city, down the big touristy streets and through the maze of little side ways, there was something else different. There was a peacefulness about it even where it was crowded, something that made it feel a bit more ageless, less hectic.

Michelle eventually figured it out: no cars.

It's obvious if you think about it, but I guess we hadn't. A whole city without a single car in it. Imagine how nice that's going to feel.

Sure, there are boats of this kind and other, but they're mostly on the one main Grand Canal that snakes through the city. All the sideways and byways are dead-ends, where gondolas and motor boats are quietly parked until needed.

It was so serene, it makes me want to flood Seattle.

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