We dug about 1200 potatoes in the last two days and now I have become the potato queen!! This farm is nuts, I’ll tell you guys all about it soon.

I’m feeling like a big baby today. It’s not the first time and it’s probably not going to be the last that I really really just want to pack up my big stupid backpack and come home. France is beautiful and lovely and rich in culture and rich in cheese and full of new opportunities. But it’s also hard. And usually uncomfortable. I’M TIRED OF FLIES LANDING ON ME. And I’m getting tired of showering with shoes on in bathrooms with spiders on the ceilings and of having bug bites on my face from sleeping with the windows open. And I’m more tired of going through hot days and stuffy nights with no fans or ac or air circulation. I’m tired of delayed trains and small busses and not being able to hop in the car. What do cars even feel like anymore?? I’m tired of having to eat french food where they drown vegetables in butter and cream and don’t cut them small enough. I’m t i r e d of bread. And I’m over the strange table manners and weird long silences at lunch where no one talks. I’m over not speaking english!!!! I know it’s the point but wow I really miss the comfort of “hey how’s it going” and smiling when I say hello and I’m still not totally sure what to say to “ça va?” and definitely don’t love kissing strangers on the cheeks. It feels strange and is a lot less meaningful than a hug. Did you know french people don’t smile?? They look chic as hell but they don’t smile. They just sip wine and smoke cigarettes and kiss cheeks and apparently sleep with bugs crawling on their faces. I miss going to the gym and roasting vegetables and eating salad and baking comfort food when I’m in the mood. I miss knowing that I can find what I’m looking for at the supermarket (publix forever) and not having to be 100% seasonal all the time (broccoli I miss you!) I miss feeling healthy. And I miss savannah! What the heck is the country even doing for me right now. And we just signed on for another two months on a farm. I’m sure I’ll be a better person for it but right now I just want to take a nap and wake up at home.

In case you were wondering what’s happened in the last two months I’ll tell you now. WE DIED AND THEN CAME BACK TO LIFE AGAIN more or less.

We left our first home on Île d'Oleron at the end of July headed for nightmare camp aka german surf camp. It was so nuts there that we sent out sos messages and left three weeks early. I know from over there in comfy America it sounds like I am being a big baby and you’re probably right but I still think we did the right thing here. First of all forget everything you think you know about Germans (efficient and organized etc etc). When we arrived to the train station we bumped into another couple of backpackers headed to the same campsite as us and shared a taxi. They were a chill Italian-Argentinian couple on their third year of travel. On the way there we found out that they were headed to go4surf too, what a coincidence! And they were staff for the month of august, wow what are the odds!! And they are the chefs, woah no way so are we!! huh…. Ya so we got there and find out they double booked our positions as chefs and then kind of brushed it off and blamed us all for the mistake. And then said they would to let the four of us decide which two would have to leave. The caveat being that in the meantime we would have to share a surfboard, and wetsuits, and there probably wouldn’t be enough bikes and btw the beach is 6km away. ~But~ the next day found out they had a full camp to feed the first week so we could all cook together for now and would decide at the end of the week who would go. Thank the gods. The kitchen was a tent and we had fifty germans to feed. John and I went into it thinking we would outwork our ‘competition’ and be the ones to stay. We could take lead and plan the meals and reorganize and set up a structure in the kitchen. And we did. But it turns out that we really got along with giorgia and javier and needed them as much as they needed us. So together we’re cooking 12 kilos of meat per meal with 5 sides in a tent with a small oven, three working mini fridges, one broken mini fridge, a stove with two burners, and a griddle. And actually it was really fun…at first. Really long really hot exhausting hours but every meal felt like one of the best things I’ve cooked and was usually something the germs had never tasted before (side note: seeing people eat their very first rice krispie treat is a truly magical thing especially when you put peanut butter in it) The energy we got from cooking was alllllmost enough to get us through but it just didn’t and in the end we were just too exhausted to surf or to learn any of the things we came here for. And really the main thing was that the germans were just kind of jerks. Generally ungrateful people and made no effort to include anyone that wasn’t german (and I know it’s a small thing but they had no understanding of health code in a kitchen whatsoever and after a trimester of culinary school that freaked me out!!) And every night after hours of working we slept in a tent that backed up against the bar tent and the cinema tent and even headphones and sleep masks can’t help that kind of thing. And it was a million degrees the whole time. So after a week we just realized we weren’t growing or learning or happy and chose to solve their overstaffing problem by running away at the first chance. I cried a little when I read the email from Sebastien that said we could come back to Île d'Oleron tbh bc it meant there was hope for happiness again. So we hiked out early in the morning eight days after we arrived and caught a bus to a train to another bus and eventually hitched our way back to our home on the magic island again. (big shoutout to the really nice french couple that gave two tired dead looking americans a ride) We were greeted by hugs and kisses and a caravan of our own and just like that we were home again.

And that’s the full circle. Despite all of the complaining, looking back on it I really had a good time on the days we did spend surfing and the afternoons at the pool. So it wasn’t all bad. But I lost my favorite jacket, so it’s still mostly bad.

Scattered memories of this magical island.

Week 10. June 1st.

30. Veal Paupiettes Bourgeoise style. Basically veal meatballs wrapped in caul fat wrapped in cow stomach breaded, pan seared and then oven roasted. Overall, eh. Aaaaand I didn’t get a picture of it. After a perfect record of taking pictures of everything I’ve made I completely forgot but tbh this is really the only picture that even matters I think. Here’s the toast on the final day of class with the people that made this entire experience/my life. My sisters. I could write about them forever but there will be another post for that.

Week 10. May 31st.