Woodat.com

Finally have confirmation of something I’ve been suspecting for the last two days: I CAN EAT AGAIN!!!!!! Hooray me!  And none too soon either.  It took me an entire week (7 days) to be able to put a decent amount of food in my stomach again, and I am glad to be able to once more.

My trouble started the week before when I had waaaaay too much to drink.  The day after the hangover kept me away from food, then after that the thought of food made me feel just physically ill.  Unfortunately that became something of a cyclic thing, where thinking about food made me feel ill so I didn’t eat, and by not eating I only got hungrier.

Finally though, with the assistance of a few beers last monday night to settle my stomach somehow, I was able to whip up some fried bread (french toast to americans), which turned out to be a fascinating exercise to do whilst drunk.  Thankfully, unlike many of my projects, it failed to catch fire or explode and was promptly consumed.   I’ve been eating fine since then.

I’m returning home soon, and am somewhat dreading the thought of it.  43c at home vs 18-20c here.  I suppose I should focus my mind on what to bring back as presents for people.  Can’t do jams or any of that as none of our fruits are ready.  Wine would seem an obvious choice but I dread the thought of transporting it.  I wonder if I can track down some frog’s legs…

No, not this one, scroll down a little.

You can see the remnants of last night’s weather still hanging low over our fields this morning.  By 10 though it’d mostly call cleared away revealing a cloudy blue sky.

Good news btw! Finally have a picture with me actually in it.  Here’s a shot of me standing by the entrance/exit of the classroom my father and I go to on Mondays and Thursdays.  My father attends a french class here and I’ve been tagging along these last few days.  Strangely, they’ve all been doing this for months now yet all of them are very afraid of volunteering for anything.  I will happily make a mockery of myself in the pursuit of knowledge so it’s no loss for me anyway.

Anyway, the reason for the photo is to show just how low some of the doors and ceilings come around here.  It’s almost dangerous at times.  Thankfully most everywhere has reasonable doors but the older a place gets the more wonky its dimensions, on average.  There’s no steps next to me either, btw.  I am standing on a flat floor next to this door.

My hair does seem to be a bit mad in that picture though.  Normally I can get it a bit more focused but I just didn’t bother this morning.  I need to see what I can do to bring it back in line before I return home

Past midnight here, having trouble sleeping.  Outside is pitch black, without a moon nor any stars to sparkle in our eyes.  The storm still hangs over us though the rain has long past.  Not even any wind to move the clouds and fog which inhabit the surrounding fields.

The house is built at the edge of a ridgeline, atop one of the endless rolling hills that cover this land.  The ground is little more than a foot of dirt, held together by the plants that dominate every aspect of life here.  Below them lays a shell of solid stone.  It is no small wonder that castles are plentiful here, the materials for building them sit barely hidden beneath our feet.

The house, sitting here at the relative highpoint of the land, seems to almost touch the sky on stormy nights.  The clouds roll in close, and when it thunders overhead one can’t help but fear.  The ground will shake and the house will shudder as all your body is pounded by the sudden violent shockwave.  In one instant you can be overwhelmed by the deafening roar of the sky, and it can make even the bravest want to pull up the blankets a little closer, catching glimpses of the pitch black room as lightning warns you of yet another monstrous bellow to come.

Soon, for those foolish enough to stay in the wake of such heavenly anger and raucus fury, the sky will open up to join battle with the earth in the form of torrential downpours.  The clouds will give way to an endless flow of water, pounding every surface in an attempt to drown out our very existence here.  All we can do is but to sit and hope that our meager protection, crafted from the very ground the sky now seeks to wash away, holds together.  An ocean of water will fall in but an hour, and standing in its path is only a few small clay tiles, made centuries ago by workers now long dead, and held aloft by rotting beams of wood and puny stone walls.

And, as if seeing that our structures still stand in defiance of this most glorious assault, the gods most spiteful will call upon forces even more dark and destructive to dash upon our enclave.  The trees will quake and the chimes will howl as the wind does come forth to deprive us of our petty sanctuary.  We lay there, helpless, as an invisible and unholy hand casts its ethereal tendrils to grasp and claw at the walls and rend the clay roof asunder.  The windows will shudder and the doors need bolting down for fear they’ll be torn off. It is not the rain nor the thunder which is the most dangerous in these most tumultuous of nights, but the fearsome winds as they’ll seek to rend our house apart, searching ever for a fearful prey curled up in their beds or by the flickering fire.

Not that we have any storms like that tonight.  All’s quiet up here.   The house is disturbed by nothing, save for the glow of this computer monitor and the light tapping of my fingers as I find some way to occupy my mind on this darkened evening.

Not much more to say than that. We are hosting a lunch for Wendy, Brian, and Toby today.  That should be fun.  I quite like Wendy and Brian’s son Toby, who I think suffers from a slight to lesser-middle blend of autism.  He’s definitely functional, however his interactions with people are a bit odd.  But then I know exactly how that is.  When he is paying attention to you he stares at you unyieldingly, which is something I constantly have trouble with also. Strangely enough, even though I feel more empathy and understanding to his life than anyone else’s, I have a hard time connecting to him.  Perhaps it’s because he can’t be read like other people, I have a hard time adapting.

That’s not to say though he’s not both very interesting and fun to be around.  As far as I remember from the last few times I’ve met him he plays basketball and loves airplanes.  He is also always smiling and is happy to talk with you on most any subject. He’s at university now, and I mean to ask him about it tonight.

Round 2 of paintball and wow were there some good games.  There was a team of actual turnament players there to challenge us.  The games started on the speedball field where we’re king we terrorised the field.  while they were good we still had the edge with both tactics, experience, and aim and were able to beat them until they started stacking the teams against us with extra players.  Even then we were doing great till a lucky shot clipped my hand and my father’s gun jammed.

After that though things became more murky.  Seeing we were dominating the speedball they convinced us to go play the fort field.  The field, as you can guess, has a large fort on it (as well as some other buildings).  We still broke sides down but with the woods and buildings it’s all too easy to either pass someone who is hiding or get shot by a confused teammate when you get so far ahead of everyone else.

The final few games though were the most drawn out.  There we had to hold a fort against them for 15 minutes as they assaulted it.  First game went great as we beat almost all of them.  Then we saw (what we thought) was the last remaining few retreating.  My father and I, being as we are, decided to turn the tables on them.  So we got down off the wall and as I stood at the door with my pistol and him with his shotgun-like pump gun we could only think of how moviesque this must seem.

The rush turned out to be like the movies though, as apparently there were still more than the few we were after.  I got whacked in the back and my father got a few bouncing off him until our fellow teammates got up the nerve to follow us and help take them out.

Regardless though, the players were a good challenge above the ones we had the week before.  They also kept calling me “the ninja” after seeing the Vibram 5 finger shoes I wore and the fact I was out there with nothing more than a pistol.  Hillariously both my father and I were picked last for every team, which is something that hasn’t happened in years and was just funny to have happen once again.

All in all a good time, and the field owner loves having us there.  I think we’ve become something of an attraction (or a sideshow act) or something.  I’m hoping that maybe I’ll have time to go play once more next saturday.  I need to check to see which day my flight leaves.

(First off, sorry for the lack of colour in the picture above.  The laptop I’m on had a huge amount of trouble getting it off my iphone and converted.  Anyway, on to the main bit)

Seems the hangover from Monday night’s excitement has left my eating schedule in a tizzy.  It’s now just past noon on Friday and I’ve barely been able to manage more than bread, peanut butter, and jam for the last couple days.  The good news though is I am feeling well enough for paintball this weekend, so we’re going to have one more blast before I leave.  The field called and asked us to come down as they have a huge group coming.  Should be a lot of fun, and have invited Matt along as well.  Big mean looking lad that speaks both french and english should be well good to round out our team.

On the matter of language and nationality though, I am having a great time being American.  It is fun beyond belief.  For the first time every time I speak I hear the american accent in my voice.  It’s all relative really to the voices around one’s self.  At first my instinct was to just push it back to its default british sound however I quickly realised that there was no benefit to it.  The local area is saturated with british tourists and expats, and that’s all the french hear.  Americans are rather rare in these parts and thus a great novelty.

It also allows me to be even more boisterous in my personality as well.  As Becky informed me, “you americans” (hehe) are most well known for being very loud and arrogant. While I have no desire to be an “ugly american” it does give me the excuse of being more exciting and self confident than I am normally.  I swear, every time I speak: to me it’s like being in a movie and I’m playing an always confident american hero ready to sweep the girls off their feet, much to the annoyance of the local lads.   Except when I try to speak French that is.  Those moments become rather embarrassing.  But, je vais mieux

It’s been a few days now since my last update.  The good news is the weather has cleared up.  Soon as it’s daylight I’ll get another picture posted.  But as it stands I’ve not actually been about the farm since Monday evening.

It all started the Monday before, when I’d first arrived at Ségur.  My father took me down to the evening soiree (drinks at the local cafe in the town centre really) where I met Becky and her brother Matthew.  They apparently live a few miles from us up the hill above town, and had run into my father previously.  We chatted and talked for a couple hours but at the time I didn’t think much of it. Or rather I was fairly sure I didn’t have a chance.  Besides the fact she’s stunning, her brother was a huge menacing looking and very protective chap and they also had another mate with them whom I’d have guessed was her boyfriend.

Well it seems I’m damned out of touch with reading these things, as I was to discover a couple nights ago.  I foolishly made the mistake of staying in this last Monday, figuring I wasn’t missing out on anything.  Turns out Becky was keen to meet up with me again and had come down to meet us in the town.  And my father (being rather perceptive of these things), offered to take her up to the house to go fetch me once she realised I wasn’t there.  And so there I was, laying on the sofa when I saw this cute little face peering in the window at me.

With the wave of embarrassment washing over me I quickly agreed to join them back down at the local cafe for drinks.  And drinks there were.  As I’d forgotten my wallet at the house Becky bought them all, and she refused to stop.  We were there chatting and drinking till they closed up much later in the evening.  My father disappeared some time earlier as they offered to get me home.

And I made it home.  Wednesday.  As it stands I’ve just spent the last two days with her at her house.  After the soirée we went back to her place for a few more drinks.  I can’t help but feel that at this point I may have been lured into this.  In any event though it’s been an extremely pleasant few days and I’ve gotten to know someone very interesting.  She made me promise though that I wouldn’t talk about her on here, so I’m not to mention that she talks to her tummy when it rumbles, finds Tigger from Winny the Pooh sexy, and occasionally dreams of being a tiny purple heffalump.  Which also doesn’t speak to how passionate and interesting she can be about her interests yet at the same time could seem very fragile.

I’m hoping to get to see her again this weekend though don’t know if I’ll get the opportunity.  Trying to get her to send me a pic (I didn’t have my phone on me) but like most girls she seems shy about the camera.  No idea why though, stunningly attractive to the point where it was funny to see all the guys staring at her as we walked through the supermarket earlier today.  There’s more underlying story to all this, and it’s not exactly hard to work out everything (I don’t come with any commitments or attachments obviously), but really it does feel nice to be picked up by a rediculously cute girl once in a while.  Not to mention the time I got to spend getting to know someone else over here.  All in all, I’m just glad for the memories and experiences of all this.  Well, all the experiences excluding the hangover…

Though the weather has maintained a consistently damp and rainy feel, I have been doing slightly better.  I was knocked out entirely a couple days ago but was able to get back to work on things yesterday.  As what I’ve been doing is mostly in the barn I’ve been safe from the weather anyhow.

Still, this 60s and rainy is far more pleasurable than what I hear the weather is over in Chandler

Sorry for the lack of photos thus far. I have em, but I haven’t had the energy to upload anything yet, what with the fact that I have a cold!  That’s right, I’ve flown halfway around the world only to be infected the day I arrive, and have gotten more and more stuffed up with each passing day.

There is one practical upside: I don’t have to attend any more dinner outings for a while.  As wonderful as the french food is, and as friendly as they are, it’s hard enough explaining my eating habits in English.  Explaining it in french to a bunch of people who all worship eating takes becomes a whole new challenge.

Anyhow, 8 a.m. here, looking out over the valley and it’s filled with fog.  Can’t see the far side at the moment.  Wouldn’t a picture be grand at this moment?  **edit** oh wait, there’s a picture at the top now.  How’d that get there?

Went to dinner (to read in America: lunch) with another set of friends, Pierre and Monique.  We own a small building next to Pierre’s house on the river, and had met them as part of the land purchase.

As we have gathered by talking with Pierre and going through his old scrapbooks, Pierre’s father had built up and owned a small stone factory building.  He’d first operated it first a wool factory and later a hydroelectric power generator for the nearby town.  Pierre had been born in the factory before moving across the road to a new house that his father had built by the side of the river a few years later.  It seems that’s as far as he’s got.  Anyhow, we have a small house connected to the factory, complete with the single most scary toilet ever made.

As it stands this is about 40 feet up a stone staircase on a small cliff behind the factory.  It is on a stone overhang looking out on a much further drop down into a stream below.  This stream then fed the tunnel that once housed the hydroelectric generator before feeding off into the main river.

Before you ask, sadly I have no decent pictures of any of the stuff I’m describing, so use your imaginations for now I do have one of the river though.

As you can see, the weather seemed to be getting a bit dark.  Near the end of the dinner the skies opened up to the most torrential downpour.  After an hour though the storm passed by and we were able to hop into our jeep and head back home.  It seems though that we chased the storm back here though, and it has stopped above us.