Two Days in Silence in Taizé

Going to the Common Prayer in the evening, I feel excited.  I'm looking forward to my two days with no distractions, no chatting, and no having to meet people.  I arrive earrly for the prayer and stay late - this is my priority and I have all the time in the world to give to it.  It's a great freedom.  

Walking back to the Girls' Silence House, it starts to rain.  Lightly at first, but then more and more steadily.  There is thunder and lightning, and I've forgotten my rain coat, but I am warm, and I am heading to a warm dry place with a bed, so it's alright.  I have the impulse to tell someone this information - "Don't worry, it's alright, I made it back safe." MIchael is always worried about getting wet in the rain; I'm sure he would have asked.  But there is no one to tell.  Over and over I swallow my words - it's a strange feeling.  

I share a small room with a girl I have not met.  She is doing a week in silence so she has been here five days already. I hear her come in at night, but I am already in bed. In the morning we get ready for the day together, but we don't speak or make eye contact. In fact I don't really even have a good picture in my head of who she is because I avoid looking directly at her. I wonder where she's from, and try to peer as politely as possible at her toiletry case to see what language is written on the bottles. 

As I quietly leave the room and head downstairs, I find I am full of unspoken apologies - sorry for moving into your room, sorry for disturbing you while you were painting, sorry for letting the door bang, sorry for closing/opening the window when maybe you wanted it open/closed, etc. I save them up, to be spoken out loud on Sunday morning, but that's ridiculous. I can't spend all of Sunday morning apologizing. I need instead to let these things go and depend on the charity and small forgivenesses of those with whom I am living. And I need to give them in return. Not always easy. 

I go sleepily to the Morning Prayer, enjoying misty countryside as I walk. My thoughts are a bit everywhere. I imagine what would happen if I suddenly got very sick and was taken to the hospital. How would they find Michael to tell him? But otherwise, I am calm. I have time. Inner peace will come. 

Breakfast is at 9:30am, and the silence house is a 15min walk from the church, so we all leave as soon as the prayer is done. The crowd thins out until it's just us left on the road, and yet we aren't really walking together, in a group. We're in a line, single file, not talking. We must look strange. 

At breakfast, there are maybe 20 of us around the table, eating and not speaking. The silence to me feels hostile. I'm used to silence indicating unfriendliness, anger, reproach.  But this should be a different kind of silence. I think that as time goes on, it will grow to be companionable. 

After breakfast Sister Isabelle (a nun) speaks to us for one hour. She talks about what to expect, what to be wary of, and gives us suggestions of how we can organize our day. It is good, I think, to go into silence with a guide that you trust. After the talk, we each have a small job to do. Mine is to clean the toilets in the garden. My work partner and I speak briefly as we locate the supplies we'll need and then complete our task.  We finish quickly but I have urge to continue discussing- next time I'll use less soap, etc., but I stop, and we simply part ways.

At lunch, after the Midday Prayer, we sing a song to begin the meal, and this blending of voices of people I've never heard speak somehow turns strangers into friends.  During the meal, music is played – piano sonatas, and that also makes our silence more bearable.

In the afternoon, I take a small nap, I read Psalms in the village church of Ameugny, I wander through the countryside, and I sing songs sitting by a river where the bubbling water covers my voice and no one can hear me but myself.  I find I am full of plans – I'd like to write a guide for couples thinking about leaving together on a bike trip. I'd like to host a weekend silent retreat back home. I'd like to try to re-create on paper the teal barn door with yellow, orange and grey bricks that I can see through the window of the small common room. The day's too short. Already I'm thinking I'd like the silence to be longer.

When you do the Tour du Mont Blanc

I hope when you walk the Tour du Mont Blanc, you aren't too proud to take the téléseige de temps en temps.  The walk up to the Col de Voza is long and mostly on the road anyways.  

I hope you sleep in an alpine meadow and watch the sun set on the glacier towering over you.  

I hope you get up in the early morning and climb over the col before anybody else does, and that you eat an aisette de fromage Savoyarde when you arrive on the other side

I hope you see a trail and wonder where it leads,  

And that you see a mountain hut, barely discernable 1000m above you in the scree, and wonder how to get there.

I hope you set up your tent moments before the rain,

And that you watch the Ultra Trail runners go by in a steady stream of headlamps bobbing through the dark, cold, wet night, and then climb into your own warm sleeping bag for a good night's sleep

I hope you walk all day and go really far and feel good about yourself, 

But that you also sleep all morning and go practically nowhere at all, and still feel good about yourself.  

I hope your hiking partner carries the tent. 

I hope you hitchhike in France and get picked up right away.

I hope you visit friends.

I hope you don't forget to clean your water bottles more than once every two months.

And if you do forget, I hope scum doesn't grow in them and make you sick.

But if scum does grow in them and make you sick, I hope you notice right away and stop drinking out of them so you don't stay sick.

But if it does take you a while to figure out there's scum in your water bottles and that's what's making you sick, I hope your hiking partner is kind and turns back after just 300m of walking to set the tent back up again in the exact same spot it was an hour before so that you can have a rest day.  

And I hope he reads to you, and holds back your hair if you vomit.

And the next day, I hope he carries your bag to the top of col, and then comes back for his own.  

And when you can't manage to hike down the other side either, I hope he tells you to leave your bag where it is, he'll run down with his bag, and then come back and get yours. 

And I hope you meet some nice people on the trail who ask if you're alright because you're walking so incredibly slowly and you tell them you're sick, so and they give you a sports gel that seems to be pure sugar and caffieine, but you're not quite sure because the package is in a different language, you only know it gives you the energy to get down the mountain.  

And then I hope you eat soup, and sleep inside, and feel better enough the next day to eat three granola bars, some dried apricots and raisins, an omelette and a plate of raviolis with butter before you leave the refuge.  

I hope you climb to the top of a col at over 2000m, and find sheep waiting to greet you.  

And I hope you meet the shepherd, and ask him how many sheep he has (1650), and where he's taking them (down to the valley), and if he brings them up and takes them down everyday (yes, he does). And that you get to watch his dogs at work, gathering the herd and keeping them together.  

But I hope that after you pass the sheep, as you come down the other side of the col, you look up to see a bouquetin, or mountain goat, 20 m away from you, quietly picking its way through the rocks.  

And I hope that when you've seen all these things, and done all these things, I hope you're not too proud after ten days of hiking to arrive in Courmayeur and take the tunnel back home.  Or who knows?  Maybe by the time you do the Tour, they'll have completed the gondola and you can take it over the top!

First Day in the Mountains,

Our campground at Bendorf was at the top of a hill, so we started the day with a long descent that we had climbed in the dark the night before.  The village was very pretty (but no boulangerie!), and the road out of town was quite flat.  We quickly came to our first serious uphill, though - marked by three chevrons on the map!  There aren't too many of those.  Mercifully, however, it was short, and we stopped for a break at the top, before descending into the next valley, where it was raining. We stayed for maybe half an hour under a tree and ate cookies and milk until it had mostly stopped.  From there, we had just a few kilometers before we crossed the Swiss border in Lucelle, and met our first Swiss cows, with Alpen bells around their necks.  Partway through the afternoon, we stopped at a small chapel, halfway up the hillside, and had lunch  on its front step, while it rained again.  We had a small prayer, and then left in a light drizzle which soon stopped.

 In the next village just past the chapel, we came to the beginning of our first "col" or mountain pass.  It was steep!  And musical - the tinkling of the cows' bells could be heard nearly constantly, from the different pastures on all sides of the narrow valley.   Along the way, we met Rodrigue, from Strasbourg.  He was on his first ever bike trip, and had left that morning from Basel, with a bike he'd bought at a flea market, vintage-styled leather panniers, a Quechua tent, no map, and nothing but raw fruits and vegetables to keep him going!  He had a lot of questions!  But mostly he wanted to know if he could make it to Geneva in two days (we were making nearly the same trip and had budgeted seven).  We showed him our map, and talked about the route, and then decided to go together aways.  We reached the top - 700-and-something metres, and then joyfully (yes, joyfully!) headed down the other side into the village of St. Ursanne. 

Very pretty little town, little shops and galleries, and terrasses.  I wish I could say we stopped there for the night.  Instead, we were feeling inspired, and so even though it was 18h, we got Swiss francs, and groceries, and headed up the other side of the valley, to the next campground, 14km away.  Apparently, at the bottom of the hill, there was a sign that said rise of elevation 590m over 9km - more than double the col which we had just done.  I didn't see it, I think if I had, we would have turned back.  

It was a long climb!  Every time we thought we were at the top, it kept going.  And we started to hear thunder, even though our valley was clear, you could see the storm in the next valley over, hemmed in by the mountains.  Finally, we saw a radio tower (they always put them on the highest point), and we went a little bit down into the village of St. Brais.  We biked to center of the village (just follow the steeple) and looked for the sign to the camping.  No sign.  Hmm... the town was very quiet.  We stopped across from the church and wondered if we should knock on someone's door to ask.  

Right at that moment, I noticed a man looking through his window at us.  Then, he came to the door, and down his front steps, and asked us if we needed help.  He told us there was no campground in town, the closest one was maybe 11km away, and you needed to climb a few more times to get there.  It was, at this point, past 20h, and the sky was looking rather threatening.  We really couldn't go any further.  So we asked if there was any flat place in town where we could put our tent.  He suggested maybe in the parking behind his house - his lawn in the back was very definitely sloped.  We thanked him, and he said he had just come back from three weeks of hiking and many people had helped him, so he knew what it was like to be in need, he just had to go ask his mother if it was ok with her if we stayed, since it was actually her house, and he lived a few villages away.  And that is how we ended up sleeping in the garage of a 94 year old woman, who offered us wool blankets and invited us up for cookies and coffee. 

After such a welcome, I was very distressed to find myself feeling suddenly very unwell.  Aimdst offers of homemade herbal tea and a cloth with water and vinegar, I went back to the tent to lie down, and later, when Michael and Rodrigue were making dinner, I threw up into a grocery bag.  Too many mountains!  

The next morning, our host visited the boulangerie as soon as it opened to buy us buns and bread for breakfast.  I was feeling a bit better, and I did have some of her tea, which she had made herself from five different plants that she had picked in the region.  It was delicious, and she gave us some to take along, and tried to give us a tea bong, or a least a small strainer so we could make it properly.  

Despite such a postive start, I was still feeling unequal to double chevron hill climbs, and so I took the very nice but very expensive Swiss public transportation through the tunnels and down to Neuchatel, and Michael took the bike up over the mountains and down to Neuchatel, a trip of about 85km.  We met at the billeterie at the train station at 18h30, and then headed to a campground a few kilometres down the lake.  

Michael was the most tired I've seen him yet on this trip.  But that night, he opened his glasses case to take out his contacts, and discovered that his eyewear was missing, so he set his alarm and made plans to return the next morning to St. Brais, by bicycle, 140km roundtrip.     

Over hill, over dale, over mountain top, through wind, through rain, Michael retraced his path back UP UP to le toit d'Europe to rescue his spectacles.  He arrived at the house, rang the bell, the Madame came to the window and said, "Oh good!  You've come back to give me the key!"  

"Uh, no.  I forgot my glasses."  

"What?  Wait, I'll come down."

It seems that the Madame had, after we left, tried the back door key that I had given her, and been unable open the door.  She was convinced we had given her the wrong key, and we had her key somewhere in our bags.  But this was really not possible, since I had locked the door with that key and then directly handed it to the Madame.  Nevertheless, Michael stayed with her more than two hours, eating cake and drinking coffee, and trying to get me on the phone so I could give my testimony regarding the key.  This involved calling the campground where we had agreed to meet that night and trying to leave a message.  This, however, was unsuccessful, as the woman running the campground was in the hair salon, and was less than cooperative.  Finally, around 4pm, Michael said he had to go, if he wanted to get back to Neuchatel in the light.  

Meanwhile, in the campground, I had met a very nice family of Swiss-Germans, who had lived for a few years in Kitchener, Ontario - the town where I was born - and the mom and dad had crossed Canada by bike before they had children.  The father was even wearing a ball cap that said Canada.  I told them where Micheal had gone, and they were very impressed.  It seems they told everyone - in any case, when Michael arrived in the campground just after 9pm, he was famous.  "Oh, you're the one from Kitchener! You're looking for the English girl, and you've got your glasses!" 

The next morning, we asked the nice Swiss-German family to use their phone to call the Madame to say we definitely did not have her key.  Heursement, tout va bien!  François, the son of Madame, had come by and tried the key, and it worked!   C'était la bonne!  All's well that ends well, I suppose

.

Follow the River

Look at a map of Europe in an atlas, or Google search Vianden, in Luxembourg.  Do you see the river Our there?  More like a stream really, full of ducks and swans, making its way through the countryside, through the forest and between the hills of Luxembourg.  You can follow it south for quite some time, and then see?  It joins the river Sûre.  A bigger river now.  Luxembourg on one side, Germany on the other, and small bridges taking you back and forth between them.  There are kayakers now, on this river.  You can rent a small boat and float a ways down, and then they'll pick you up and take you back to where you started.  You don't even really need to paddle.  Keep going south.  The river twists and turns a bit, and then it joins the Mosel, or la Moselle in French.  Go the French way, southwest instead of southeast - the road beside you is actually called the Route du Vin!  You're in vine country now.  The hills that before were covered in forests, or pastureland, now have row upon row of grapevines growing.  You can continue south, through France, or, when you get to Schengen, you can go just 40km overland to an even bigger river, the Saar.  An impressive river, a muddy red.  Huge tubes follow along beside you, cross over above your head, and disappear into massive, smoke-stacked structures.  Shiny and new or old, rusty, and crumbling, eerily abandoned.  But don't be fooled - this is the UNESCO World Heritage site in Völklingen, celebrating the technological achievements of man.  German industry continues on both sides, but soon you cross the border into France, and it is quiet again.  The highway is gone, instead there is nature, and the river.  Notice that it splits in two.  You can see it in Sarreguemines, the canal beside the river.  Follow the canal, it's straight and flat.  The water has lost its red colour, it's green-grey, and full of fish.  All along the banks people sit on their lawn chairs, under umbrellas or trees or large sun hats, with their cars pulled up beside them, and three or four fishing rods set up in front of them.  At the right time of day, if the sun is at just the right angle, you can see into the canal.  The fish are dark shadows that skim the surface from below, looking for food.  Their thick bodies are nearly as long as my arm.  Are you still following the canal?  Be careful, it splits away from the river Saar.  It passes around Sarrable on the north side, and then heads straight south.  It goes through Bissert, and Harkischen - there's a campground in that town if you need to stop the night - and then at Mittershiem it passes through three lakes.  You can see on the map, it's the strangest thing.  It does not join the lake and come out on the other side, but it actuallly is a channel, with walls on either side, that passes untouched to the other side.  In the third lake, it splits.  You can go west to Nancy, or east.  Keep going east.  Gondrexange, Saverne, and then clear sailing all the way to Strasbourg.  

342km, almost entirely on bike trails, and almost entirely flat.  It's been a nice way to travel!

A visit to Geijsteren

Oma's hometown smells like roses.  When you come in on the road from Venray (and surely you'll be coming from Venray, after visiting Opa's niece and nephew - Joke and Hans, and his brother, Sej), when you come in on the road from Venray, you'll see a house right up against the left hand side of the road.  It's red brick, old, built in the 1800s.  Look for the sign out front - Henk Lomme. You know the name, right?  That's Oma's brother's house.  Her nephew lives there now with his wife and four daughters. You can stop in and say hello - Dad stayed here, you know, when he came at 12 or 15. 

Just before Henk's house, you'll see a dirt road.   Follow it, and it'll take you back the way you came, past a soccer field, and through the woods.  The road is rough on a bike, but keep going.  You'll soon come to a stream, running along through the forest, with a bridge over it, and a smalll house with a thatch roof and a water wheel on one side.  You recognize it, right?  The old mill, from the painting that hangs in Opa's room.      

Go back to the main road, Oostrumesstrasse, or something similar.  Go past Henk's house into town. You'll smell the roses now, fields of them in red, yellow, whiite, pink and orange, 500,000 stems going many places - Britain, France, the US, Canada.   But maybe they won't be there when you're there.  They only stay for two years and then they are moved.

You're in the heart of town, now, past the rose fields.  You'll see the church, built after the war, after the old one was destroyed in the Liberation.  Oma and Opa were married here, just before they came to Canada.  You can ask to see their marriage record, if you like. And across from the church was the school where Oma would have gone as a little girl, but it's gone now.  Something else has taken its place.  Oma's brothers and sisters lived here, a lot of them, along that mainstreet, Dad's aunts and uncles.  But as to who lived where and when, I'm not really sure - maybe Henk could tell you.  

If you continue straight on out of town, and then take the split left, you'll see the ruins of the baron's castle, and the place where the old church once stood.  The ruins have been restored, somewhat, the moat dug out and the wall re-built, so you can visit it.  But of the castle itself, just a few walls remain.   You remember those stories, right?  Oma bought white for her wedding dress, even though only the nobility was allowed to wear white.  So the baron came into city hall, and strode right through the middle of their ceremony to show his disapproval.  There's still a baron today - he lives on a house along the river Maas.  He's the son of the one our grandparents knew.  

Keep going past the castle and then take a left, back towards town.  You'll see a sign for the Saint Willibrodt Chapelle - the chapel in the woods that Uncle Willy is named after.  Follow that road and go see it, it's not far.  It'll be locked, unless you can find someone at the church who will open it for you.  They only use it for Wednesday evening services, and baptisms.  They use the water from the well right  beside the chapel.  It's from the 13th century, and has healing properties.  If you ask, they might show you Oma's baptismal record - January 13th, 1923, the day after she was born. 

If you come out of the woods, back on the  main road, and follow it past the signs for the Chapel, you'll end up back in town.  And there, on the left, just past the sign that says Geijsteren, is the spot where Oma's house once stood.  You knew that it burned down, right?  That Oma's mother died in the fire? You didn't? Oh.  Sorry, I don't have any photographs or anything to give you of the old house.  But the trees that stand along the edge of the front yard, those trees are still the same.  

  

  

Epic Bike Trip Step#2: Test Run, or A Trail Review Kitchener toBurlington via Brantford

Since Christmas,  Michael and I have been amassing gear, gear and more gear. It's really quite amazing, the amount of stuff we've collected (and the money we've spent!). But we needed an opportunity to test it all out. Should the spork be stored in the panniers or the handlebar bag?  Does it work to put a backpack on the rack too, or does that make the rear too heavy? Are you going to wear underwear with your bike shorts or just go free?  Some interesting questions to consider.

For our test trip, we decided to bike from Kichener back to Burlington on a rail trail. I found this trail through a simple Google map search with "bicycling" as the location search term.  We started in a small park across from Freeport Hospital called Schneider Park, which is right on the riverfront. From the parking lot, you can take the trail under the bridge in order to circle around to the walkway that will take you across the bridge.  Then, with the river on your right hand side, traveling downstream, you can begin following the Grand River Trail.

There is apparently a sign that states Rough Trail 2km.  I missed it, but my brother says he saw it.   It's nice of the Region of Kitchener-Waterloo to give you some warning. It'd be nicer still if they maintained their trail.  Exposed, softball-sized rocks, mud, and long stretches where the trail had become one with the river- not a good time on a touring bike loaded down with camping gear. The golf course that runs alongside the trail has numerous no trespassing signs, and you can see why cyclists would view it as the better option. Unless you want a real off-road experience and you have a mountain bike, this section of trail is to be missed.

As soon as you cross into Cambridge,  the trail improves drastically. The area called Pioneer Tower boasts crushed gravel, but it is still rather loose. I would suggest starting just past that point, where the trail takes you on a footbridge across the river. From that point onward, we experienced excellent riding conditions, and some lovely views of the river.

If you're looking for places to stop to rest along the way, I would suggest the town of Blair, where there is a wine bar, and Langdon Hall.  The town of Cambridge is also a good stop, larger than Blair and with more options. The trail takes you right through the downtown, past restaurants with patio seating,  and plenty of picnic spots in the ruins of old mills beside the river. Every August long weekend,  they host the Mill Race Folk Festival.  Also be on the lookout for Paris, Ontario. The sign directing you off the trail and into the downtown is small, but it is well worth the detour, and easy to find. Just head down hill and across the river.  Little shops and cafes-  get ready to be charmed!

As you approach Brantford, prepare yourself and your group for the possibility of becoming lost. Practice expressing your feelings in a constructive manner, or do deep breathing exercises to stave off the mounting frustration. I have cycled through Brantford three times now, on three different routes, and each time I have gotten lost.  The Town of Brantford has helpfully installed kiosks with bike maps (without these, the task would be completely hopeless), but there are lots of trails criss-crossing Brantford, and they sometimes end at major intersections with no on-road indications of where they might continue, or split without any explanation. Find a local and ask.  It will save you much time and frustration.

You could, at this point, continue following the river south, to Lake Erie. The trail will take you the whole way there.  Or, like us, you could head to Hamilton, on another rail trail through forest and farmers' fields.   

Epic bike trip, Step 1: and so it begins again!

Hello all!

I'm resurrecting this blog, this time with more hats ( or perhaps more belugas?), but the same intention:  a trip of an epic scale, with the primary mode of transportation being the bicycle.  Yes, as most of you already know, Michael and I are taking next year (July 2014-July 2015) to cycle around (part of the) world.  

How did we come to such a decision? The conversation went something like this:

Yvonne: What do you next year, Michael? Should we look into teaching abroad?

Michael: I don't know... A lot of the jobs abroad are teaching ESL, and I'd rather teach French. What if we worked two years here and then just went away for a year-long holiday? 

Yvonne: Well, why wait two years? Why don't we go next year?

So as you can see, this trip was a bit of a compromise - he didn't want to work and I didn't want to wait.  You do what you gotta do!

And the first step is to get inspired. Here are some websites and books that we would suggest for getting that done.

 www.Goingslowly.com 

this couple roadtripped and cycled for a year. They give a very complete list of everything they took, which is very helpful if you're thinking of a trip of your own!

www.travellingtwo.com 

These two took three years to cycle actually around the world (which is why we are only attempting a part). They have a free e-book that you can download called Bike-touring Basics -give it a read!

  

This is an excellent book, available from Michael's favourite store (MEC).  I love their description of SouthEast Asia: More cultural variety than anywhere else -and the best food! Ideal first timers' destination.