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Nicaragua

It's very rainy today. They even say that we're going to get floods...

Recently many interesting things have happened so...let's talk about it.

We got back from two beautiful weeks in Nicaragua a while ago. I had never been to Central or South America so I was very excited about this trip and well, here we go:

After a long journey up in the air, we arrived at the airport of Managua. We waited for our luggages for a while....then a long while. They didn't come. We almost missed our connecting flight before that so our belongings where stock in Florida. Thankfully I had my camera with me! Unfortunately, most of us (a nice and friendly group of seven friends from Rhodes Island---and my frenchy self) had our winter outfits on as we had just avoided a big snow storm

in Newport coming here. Then it was cold, and now it was HOT. I had my jeans on, a nice little dress and a black cardigan. Judging from the first Nicaraguan stares us lady received, I decided to keep the cardigan and the jeans. At least that first day because we then became used to it and it wasn't such a big deal, really. We surely heard lots of "tss tss, boomboom, and baby, oh

baby" while wondering the streets or going grocery shopping. Fortunately, we always had one of our man around, which might have disappointed a few locals. To get back to our luggage situation, after about an hour of registration and description of our precious belongings (surf boards included, because....oh yes...the hole Nicaragua experience was to be a surf trip for our boys, mostly) we got to the car renting place. Got two tiny Suzuki Alto cars. Tiny for American people but perfectly normal for europeans I must say. Everything is huge in the States anyway and in the U.S, people tend to particularly enjoy their comfortable hugeness (not making any bad jokes here if you thought about it...).

We got to our place after about 3 hours of driving throughout the country. During that drive we saw the real Nicaragua. The colorful but very poor Nicaragua.

Most people living in handmade "houses" in between banana plantations and the "highway". Hamacs everywhere, revealing nothing of the people sleeping in them but their bare feet. Kids playing outside, with dirty faces and pretty smiles. Goats, cows, pigs and chickens everywhere (off and on the road). Trash burning all over the place, "Viva la revolucion" signs on the walls and on random billboards, invisible speed bumps and potholes ruining our tiny wheels, police checkpoint that we got to know just too well. So you can understand, imagine seven gringos in two twin cars, with surfboards on the roof (once we finally got them back) and about four reflex cameras and two or three pocket cameras in hands, taking photos of EVERYTHING. Yep, we got gringo-taxed all over the place! Thank goodness we had one spanish speaker with us and we all could understand and speak at least a little too.

The hole photography madness felt very strange to me...

most of the time when I take photos, I pretty much wonder on my own or only with my boyfriend on my side. This time we where so many with cameras, and with such a big group I didn't enjoy taking photos as much. It was impossible to blend in and felt weird to take a photo and seeing everyone else do the same around me. It felt as if the moment wasn't as special. I'm sure my photo-friendly companions felt it too. I usually try to either be very discreet or to directly go and ask people if I can take their portrait. Neither was really going to happen as the first option was impossible and the second too personal to be accomplished in front of so many.

Now...where was I?

That first ride made it for me. I fell in love with the colors,

the dirt smell (yes, you read me), the grandmas looking at you like aliens, the kids hiding and staring with eyes wide open, the toothless smiles, the fruit stands, the re-masterised, unwanted American school buses changed into public buses, full to almost bursting with people in and ON the bus, the latin-american music you could hear everywhere, the animals, the sounds, the light.... All that was enough already for me. I saw Nicaragua and I think I understood it a little as well. But that wasn't it of course. Then luxury came in...we got to our gated community. We passed the guarded gates of the "Hacienda Iguana", drove in for a little longer, passing fields and waiting to behind groups of cows. Then we finally parked in front of our house. A big, beautiful beach house. ON the beach. That one considered as one of the best for surfing in Nicaragua. Holy moly, our boys where happy! Everyone was. It was exquisite. There we where for two weeks, in swimwear everyday (we got our luggages 2 days later...meanwhile I had made myself a sort of a swimming suit with an extra large t-shirt that I cut to make a top and a skirt). We had lots of rum, lots of beer, lots of sun and lots of fun. We met the local gringos that settled there and helped the Nicaraguan community with their businesses (little beach bars and restaurants). They gave back to the people for letting them live there with them. They are involved in all sorts of projects, such as building skate ramps and parks for the kids etc. Over there you can rent a hamac for the night for $4 and a bed for $7. You are living in front of one of the most beautiful beaches ever and you eat fresh fish everyday. Un petit goût de Paradis...

One night we came back from the bar after dancing on it and went straight to the see, all very alcoholized and very naked. Well, it was awkward and it was fun. Then one of us let his girlfriend transform his hairstyle into another one with a hair trimmer. Yes, the next day he did remember (the contrary would have been fun for us but probably not for him) and was very proud about his mohawk!

Between the surf, the sun and the fun, we also did lots of driving around to get to great villages and cities. We saw a huge, busy and messy market in Granada, and ate the best food at Yolanda's (she called us all "Mi amor", lovely little old toothless lady that we tried to understand as best we could while she would mumblingly tell us about her daily specials). We swam in a beautiful lake situated close to a big volcano on the Ometepe island, visited San Juan del Sur, a very touristy and commercial place...that day we headed back to our local villages pretty quickly!

We talked about life and how different it can be with the locals and laughed, got surprised and thought about those differences. Well I did, a lot. I have to say that I felt a little bad about living in such luxury over there. A luxury that cost us as much per night as the cheapest hotels in the States, maybe even cheaper. But for the locals, that meant five stars. Each time we passed the gates again, I felt as if I entered a fake world. A fake world that I enjoyed like everyone else, but still not the real world, far from it.

On the beach we had see turtles that crawled up from the water often to lay eggs! How wonderful isn't it? Except you would never see the baby turtles get back to the water. As soon as a "mum turtle" would regained her dear ocean, local men would come and dig the eggs out. Turtle eggs are a delicacy for them. It's terrible but neither I or you would do it differently if we lived their lives...

Anyway, I could write so much more about that place...but it would take me days to do so and hours for who ever reads this to read it! I think I described our trip shortly but pretty well so I'll stop there for today sending my good vibes to the world and thanking mother nature for the beautiful memories, the discovery and for giving me a lot to think about, once again.

Gracias Mama Gaia.

The Square

I’m back in France since last Saturday and will already be on my way back to the States Tuesday. It has been very nice to enjoy my town again, Villefranche sur Mer. Right now everything is very wintery and Christmassy.

I open my door everyday to the nativity scene, and to huge plastic polar bears. I live right in front of a public square in the old town, by the church. My 20sq ft meters studio is situated on the walk way and looks like an old abandoned shop. It has one big window and door/window covered with white grid to avoid accidents when kids are playing ball on the square after school. I like to open the door and sit there on the front step. I like to watch the leaves of the trees move with the wind. There are four big trees around the square and when it’s summer they take heart shapes. In the winter they loose all their leaves and their branches go strait up to the sky has if they wanted to grab the clouds. There is also a fifth tree, which is a pepper tree. This one keeps its leaves all years long. It always smells spicy when you sit underneath it. The church is right there and the bells ring every hour starting from one “dong” to 12 depending on the time of the day. And they do as well once every half an hour. When there is a wedding going on, the bells go crazy jolly before and after the ceremony…and for so long! It is a little too much sometimes, especially in the summer when there is a wedding every other day! They also ring when someone from the town had died. The melody gets slow and creepy. I never go outside in the “rue de l’Eglise” then if I’m in the studio as it is hard to see people crying and men carrying the coffin to the church. Carrying it in, then carrying it out. I also turn my music off if I’m listening to any, I don’t know why but I feel like it is a sign of respect due to the person who passed. I listen to the crying bells in silence, wondering if I knew the person from view or if friends of mine did and are part of the ceremony. In a small village it is always a possibility. When I think of it, it’s a little ironic that I now stay near a funeral home in the states and Scottish bagpipes have replaced the bells… When there is a wedding I also avoid going down the street; it gets crazy busy and you always end up being flashed by a camera or getting ran-in by a kid while you try to find your way out of the crowd! Though I love the flower petals and the hearts shaped paper cuts that remains on the street all day and night after the wedding. You know something special happened there, you know for sure that it was a very happy moment.

In my studio, when the glass door is shut, I can open a part of it, leaving the air in. I always do it even in winter, as it is the only aeration I have. The building was built in 1702 so there are a few inconvenient. It does make it so special though. With that window constantly open, I can hear every single noise in the street. There is a little fountain that is always running and it gives me one of the sweetest feelings. I feel safe and relaxed.

Depending the time of the day, life around the square changes…

Around 6 in the morning, you can hear something scratching the floor and getting closer and closer to my door.

When I first moved in, I got so scared of that noise, I had no idea what it was! Then I realized that it was just a man whose job is to clean the streets before everyone wakes up! Now when I’m awake to hear it, I wonder who that man is and if it is still the same man as 5 years ago when I moved in. You see, I of course close my shades and curtains at night. I always heard the broom but never saw the man. It makes me smile. He has no idea that I’m writing about him right now. He probably thinks that my place is an old empty shop and that no one lives there. It is after all what it looks like from outside! He doesn’t know that the sound of his broom is something someone will miss. At least my place doesn’t attract the curious ones or naughty ones at night. But during the day and mostly in the summer time, when my door is half open, I sometime have a nonchalant tourist that walks in, as if it really was a shop! Or I see their faces glued to my window, hands around their eyes to have a look inside. My next-door neighbors have the same problem. But worst, as their place looks much fancier than mine! Later in the morning, around 9, I can hear the old ladies chatting. They meet right in front of my door, sit on the low little wall that surrounds the square and speak about what is happening and not happening in town. It lasts for about 20 minutes and then they go their separate ways to the vegetable shop or to Lucienne’s little goods shop that sales “rotisserie” chickens every morning. There is never any left after 11! The smell goes up and down the street and you can’t resist! The best chickens, ever. We call it “poulet roti”. Every day she also makes a new “take away” dish that you can re-heat at home and enjoy. She always has the best local specialties. Before and after lunch, the street gets busy as everyone gets on and off work. Lunchtime is a BIG thing in France and people like to eat outside if it’s sunny. Which luckily is 80% of the time in South of France! So I often have ladies chatting and eating their lunch together one of the benches on the square. Others go to the café up the street and enjoy a nice salad or “entrecote-frites”. Then it gets quiet again for a while. Everyone ate and if you are not working, then you are sleeping! The elders do anyway. During summer time, you can hear the lost tourists searching for the galleries and chapels to visit. Then you hear every language there is! If and when I’m sitting outside on my step, you can be sure that someone will ask me the way. I should have opened a tourist agency there… It would work so well! Life continues around the square and you can soon hear the moms going up to the school to pick up their little ones. And I witness a daily meeting and “what’s up and not” again. Half an hour later, around 4.30pm the street and square transforms into the holder of an extremely messy symphony of running stomps and shouts and screams and laughs and bikes and flying balls (often stopped by my well protected window in a big “BANG”)!

Often you also end up hearing “maaamaaaaaaaaaaan” followed by a big sob. Then everyone goes home to their “gouter” which is a little bite to eat, usually something good and sugary, before homework so the kids don’t get too hungry before diner. Soon after that everyone comes back from work and greets each other as they walk up and down the street with a loud voice on their way home:

- “Bonne soiree!”

- “Toi aussi!”

- “A demain!”

- “Ciao a Demain!”

A little after that, when it’s quieter again, you can hear water dripping down in front of my door; it’s the 3rd floor lady that waters her plants. It did fall on my head a few times!

When the evening has arrived, if it’s summer time, the faraway sounds of the main street come to my ears from all the way down the stairs of the village. The restaurants are getting full and there is music in the air. The square takes a nice sunset color full of warm yellows and greens, orange will soon show up and the reds of the berries are magnificent. If it’s wintertime, your ear focuses much more on the bell ringing 7 or 8 times and on the fountain, still running. The square lights up and looks like the perfect romantic meeting spot. Once in a while a homeless person will come and borrow a bench for the night. It always makes me feel a little insecure at first and I can decide to offer them a cookie or two if I’ve seen them on that bench enough times to make sure that I’m won’t be in a sketchy situation. One of them used to often listen to his portable-radio so I’d hear a little music along with the water running. He also would wear woman’s earrings...

At night you sometimes hear cats fighting. I never liked that. One night a cat “begged” me to open my door and let him in, which I did. He stayed a while then left. You also can randomly hear happily drunken people going home or to someone else’s home after the bars are closed! Then again, the broom around 6.

The owner wants to sale my studio. This is the last year I’ll hear all this together. I cannot afford to buy it. I would have loved to. This will always be the place where I knew I was home right away, the first day I slept in. With only a mattress on the floor and the smell of fresh paint on the wall. So much happened there. Creation, romances, afternoon music and “people watching”, outside painting, rare but wonderful parties with drinks and food outside. The all square was my porch! Renovations and humidity problems, ant invasions, even toilet providing during a traditional village ball on the square!

One of the best memories and definitely one of the most surprising ones was an evening when I heard singing outside… like angels singing! I went out to see what was going on that was so magical. As I closed the door behind me, something like a hundred people looked my way! A hundred people with candles in their hands. If I remember correctly, it was for the Christ’s resurrection’s Mass. Someone looked at me again and gave me a sign of invitation while the chorus was still going. Now I’m not religious but I use to go to church once in a while when I was a kid. What I did not understand was that this procession was going to move to the church and well… I was given a candle thinking that this was just something happening on my square and had to follow until the end. Not “had to” but should and did. I couldn’t really give the candle back and say, “thanks for the songs”.

I stayed until the end and it gave me a nice time to think about everything I was thankful for having in my life. I thanked life, not God, and I felt good about it. It was touching to see people so close to one another and so connected. The church was beautiful and I even let a candle to Saint Therese, Saint of lost causes. Like I said, I’m not religious but I’ve always liked the image of female Saints. My mother, who believes and goes to church here and there, taught me and my sister about some of them when we where kids. She told us about these biblical characters that might have existed or not. About this image to follow of truly good hearted people. After Mass, everyone and I went back home and my candle stayed there, slowly burning, lighting Therese’s face looking down at it. Today it represents a lot to me. When I think back, I’m thankful for the randomness of life and for it to have given me one of the most interesting and special places to live at. It certainly is one of the most beautiful ones. Now I have to let it go. And I think that having written this today helps. It is if I can say, a “lost cause” for me but a new one to discover for someone else. Good luck to you, next guardian of the square. Good luck with my dear bells, fountain, unknown broom-man, curious and lost tourists and future surprises. I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I did.

P.S: I just got home and someone moved the polar bears of the Christmas decoration, making them look like they are conceiving a little one…they were two of them on separate corners of the square and someone thought it would be funny to place the bear standing on his back legs behind the one standing on his four legs… The ladies are going to have quite something to comment about tomorrow!

Happy Holidays.

US of A

It has been since June that I spend most of my

time in the United States. We left the boat because of a untrustworthy boss who decided not to pay me a salary just before the summer season started. So we decided to say bye to the boat and hello to the States. My boyfriend is American and found a job here that is to last until next summer. We are now at the half time of our

adventure here. Which is for me a beautiful but not easy one. Not easy specially for him. He misses sailing very much. He is on a new boat but this one is more of a "day sailing in the harbor" type deal. And this is NOT his style. If you ask me I'll say "I love it here, I love our time here, I'm happy." But I see that he isn't as happy as I am or as he could be and that's hard. Soon enough we'll be back sailing and traveling. I will love that too. I try to always focus on the best of the situations I'm in. But I know that I'm going to have a very hard time. There is so much here that we'll be leaving behind. So much.

I've found something here that I've always been longing for...

 A beauty and a simplicity of life that seems unreal. Smiles everywhere and "hello" everywhere. They took me in fully and truly and I can never be thankful enough for that. It's like these TV shows where you meet the perfect American family. The dogs, the kids, the big backyards and the huge family reunions are very well there. The love is there more than I ever saw before. Weddings and babies are on the way and "the moms" are there to find every evening, knitting by the fire stove...

He always had that and he knows he' ll always have it so it is easier for him to leave. He wants the ocean and the wild. And anywhere he goes I'll follow. I need this too. Even though sometimes I'd like to stop time and stay here for ever, we both have our hearts in traveling and adventures. This time I'm in an adventure where I let myself go and where I feel completely safe. When we'll leave, I'll cry. But there is so much more to see and to discover on the way. I can't wait to be a part of that too. We learned to make compromises for each other and it is not an easy thing to do. But I "pray" for it to keep working.

I haven't been writing in a while for stupid reasons really. Basically I was not sure I wanted to talk about my situation. You see, every three month I have to go back to France. Because getting a visa here is way harder that what we thought. I can't work and I can't stay. I can only get "3 month at the time" tourist visas. To get a work visa, I need a company to sponsor me and send a demand for me. Which is very difficult as before you are given any type of work visas, the American Embassy has to be sure that you are not "taking away" a job that an American citizen could get instead of you. So if you are not upper rich, an engineer or some type of doctor or scientist, well you pretty much are nothing. I don't have enough "particular" skills to get a work visa here. I could be a student but I am not in the States long enough for that and to go to school is VERY expansive here. I surely can't get any proper income at the moment either. Which is another problem as my boyfriend has to take care of all the bills. The egg and the chicken. I feel useless.

So many said "You two should get married! What are you waiting for?"

But no. No and no.

We do not want to get married just for the paper work. It would be a mistake. We love each other deeply and as long as we do, we'll want to get married one day. When we are ready and when we don't have to have a reason for it but love. For sure it would be the solution to our struggle here. The thing is that I'd rather struggle and stay true to myself.

I could get a six month tourist visa too. But for that I have to go to an American Embassy out of the US, for me the easiest would be Paris. Though I'm from the south of France and it would cost me at least a hundred box to go there and back. Then to take an appointment with the Embassy (which can only be done in advance by phone or online) I have to pay 15 euros. Then once I get the appointment I have to show up at the Embassy in Paris early morning, pretty much the day they chose, without any electronic devise on me and pay 150 euros to apply for a visa which might be accepted or not (big fake smile on my face...). Then you have to wait. Maybe two weeks, maybe two month. And you have to wait outside of the US of course. And no need to tell you that if you get the visa you probably only get it once.

So I passed on this one.

All that can be very unfair. So many people get married for a green card when they don't love each other. Sometimes they don't even know who they're marrying. And they have it easy.

I understand them though. Because for some it is their only choice and their situations can be far more complicated or dramatic than mine! Many would do anything not to go back to their previous lives. They want the American promise of the dream, they want the unaccessible, the life changing light-headed feeling. They'll get what they saw in the movies, at least for the visual part. And I wish them all the best for the rest.

My life in France is fine, I just need to be with him where ever his work or soul takes him. So I stay true to myself and to "the government" and I'm the one struggling, with a pounding heart when ever I'm back in the US, at the airport, in front of an immigration agent...

Him: "What is the purpose of your visit?''

Me: "I'm here to visit my boyfriend."

Him: "Is your boyfriend an American citizen?"

Me: "Yes."

Him: "What does your boyfriend do?"

Me: "He's got a one year job on a boat in Newport."

Him: "How long do you plan on staying?"

Me: "Three month"

Him: (Looks at me as if I was something very suspect...)

Now he asks me to put my fingers on that machine to take my finger prints again so he can find me in his register. My hands are sweating and shaking from stress. Then I look at the little camera in front of me and he takes my picture, again. He takes his time being so serious while I'm about to faint and finally hands me my passport and my visa demand back saying:

"Welcome to America"

You have no idea how these three words have been ruling my life lately. It all depends on them. And each time I go with the fear not to hear them. Not that I'm doing anything illegal but that I don't know how many times they'll let me in and out like that. So many people told me "do not EVER say that you have a boyfriend in the states! They'll thing you plan on staying there and working there!!" Well I'm sorry but I can't lie. And I can't possibly handle the stress of adding lies to my explanations of why I want to enter American soil every three month! Until now the truth worked and I intend to keep it that way. But man! What a stress! What a horrible feeling to be looked upon like something potentially bad, dangerous or unwanted. To have to fill paper works in the plane where you have to check YES or NO in front of questions such as "do you plan on attacking us?" or "were you ever involved in a genocide?"

Oh yes they do.

I know it is security precautions but it is scientifically proven than when security increases, what decreases is human rights. And I've seen it, been in it, live with it.

Now when you're in an airport, you get so scared of all they make you go through that whoever you are, you get a feeling of guilt not matter what.

Et voila, in a week i'm in for a massive stress period again. Back to France I have to buy another plane ticket with no money to come back here for Christmas. To be with my boyfriend and his warm family. Maybe one day I'll be able to feel free coming to the US, I'll be able to look at an agent without shaking hands and cold sweats because I'll finally be looked upon in a normal or at least better way. But for now it is the same each time, with more questions each time.

Unfortunately, wanting to live with the one you love, being nice, openminded, smart and fluent in English doesn't cut it. It probably never will. Even without taking a job from someone. Bottom line, a little french artist is simply not welcome enough.

Having said that, I have to add that even with the difficulties, I absolutely love the States and I really encourage foreigners to come and visit. People are generally very friendly, warm and welcoming. You'll be amazed, confused, surprised, you'll see things you never thought you'd see,

you'll amuse people by your widely

opened child's eyes in front of situations and things common to them all. But you, you'll feel like you're living in a constant movie! (I make

them laugh when I get excited each time I see yellow school buses, taxis and trash trucks...go figure).

I believe that this can really be the land of opportunities...once you are given the chance.

Annabelle.

Let it be

How am I ever going to have people read my blog if I never write in it? Huh?

Well however, today I am and I want to talk a little about friendship.

We are still in Turkey in beautiful Marmaris. The weather is amazing and we are getting tanner everyday. We have a great group of friends here and it’s been a long time I didn’t feel so good about something like that. It simply seems like everyone is made to get along with the others. You know how, when you have a group of friends, there is always a certain “she” or “he” (or more) that argues with another “she” or “he” (or more)? Or when some are always bitching about everyone? These are only a few examples of what can come along between friends and also only a generality thought. But sadly, it’s often true…even when the friendship is a good one. Well in our case here, none of it. None. I’m not saying that with time it wouldn’t happen…but we all are in such a good spirit and really enjoying our lives. We enjoy each moment we spend together and I doubt trouble and drama could come around the corner.

People often say that I’m too optimistic about new persons I meet or that I am too naïve. I know that can be very true. But I think it’s so much better to choose to see the good in things and people rather than always be skeptical. Skeptical people often are that way about EVERYTHING. So much that there natural instincts (such as curiosity and fraternity) shut down. They become completely close to all. And to finally see them relax a little is a very rare thing. And fear does it all.

Fear is the responsible for any type of unnatural reactions towards others. A first impression is always important, that is for sure. And we all deal with it in different ways. Only some people just always have bad ones. Isn’t it better to see a sincere smile on the face of someone you barely know? Remember all the fake smiles you where given…and how did that make you feel?

You never loose when you are true with others because it means you’re true with yourself.

They tell me, “You’ll get hurt”. All right then, maybe I will (and yes I have) but at least I’m trying. Giving chance. As much as I did get hurt once in a while, the fact that I kept on being open to people has brought me so much. I can sincerely say that I have many good friends. And I have a feeling that it will always be that way.

Karma it is,

Be more open and you'll be happier. Guarantied.

Sabina

So it’s been a while that I’m back in my hometown, Villefranche.

Gordon returned to Turkey. It’s already been more than 2 weeks and I still have two more to go before I join him. It’s a long time to wait but I also appreciate being home and taking time with my family and friends. I can paint too, which is an impossible task on the boat!

We recently went to Belgium together to see my family (see post “An indirect kiss on the forehead”). It was great! I was so happy to see them after 9 years of rare phone calls… I met my cousins’ partners for the first time and so did they with me!

Something really funny (also girly I know…) is that my cousin Marie first went out with her boyfriend Cedric on the 26 of September 2008, which is the exact same day for Gordon and I! We were thrilled! We also realized that we had an extreme amount of things in common. We had a great time together and I was really happy that Gordon met that part of my family. Still got to go visit the Danish and the Italian part but it’s a good beginning!

We saw my grandmother as well, my “Nonna”. I had doubts that she wouldn’t recognize me and they were confirmed. I think she knew I was family though. She seemed to be well and happy. She was smiling a lot and it made me feel good to see her sparkly eyes again! She used to live in France with us. She stayed 3 years and left when I was 15. It was my mom that decided to take care of her when she couldn’t live on her own in Italy anymore. Things were not always easy as my parent’s place is a small apartment. So imagine the scene…my mom and dad sleeping in the living room with our dog, my sister and I still sharing a small room (I was a teen that loved her privacy and independence, mostly like every other one) and Nonna was in my parent’s room. I have to admit that I was not often at home… always tried my best to have as many sleepovers at friend’s places as possible! I loved my grandma but it was hard to see my mom taking care of her 24/7. She also stopped working as much to be more present for her and after 3 years, our incomes were getting lower everyday.

It’s been a few years that my dad has troubles bringing money in and it’s not even his fault. Ever since Europe opened up its doors a little more around 2003/2004, a huge amount of people came to live here. My dad used to have a small company. They painted boats and did refits. But after a while, he had to close it because boats’ owners were hiring people from Slavic countries that worked for way cheaper and that were younger… Don’t misunderstand me though; I think that the opening of Europe was something truly great. Like in everything else in life, they are good and bad consequences when something new comes around. As long as you keep trying and smiling, no worries!

So we eventually couldn’t follow everything anymore and my mom’s brothers came from Belgium as quickly as they left to take my grandmother with them. I was 15 and only now, I saw her again.

When we arrived at the retirement place where she stays now, I had to do my best not to cry. It was so special to see her again and to realize how faraway she is now, in everyway. She stays in a small room with an other old lady who is 97 and who does nothing but sleeps all the time. Except from my uncle’s visits, life is not very exciting for her. She was sitting there at the table in front of her roommate (asleep on the table) and was staring into space. I wanted to hug her and to tell her that I missed her so much; I wanted to tell her all about my life and to ask her about hers. I wanted to take her away, bring her back to Italy, where she belongs. Bring her back to that house, now lost, where she could feel the presence of her love, my grandfather Salvatore. He died of the “black lung” after years working in the mines when I was little and I don’t remember much about him.

I know he had beautiful green eyes.

I wish I could have done all that. But I knew that my grandma was older and I had to be prepared to face someone else, someone different that what I remembered. So I behaved and kissed her hello, we gave her some flowers and stayed for a while. She was smiling.

Then we left, kissed her goodbye…

My cousin Francois is getting married in August and she probably won’t be able to attend. My family thinks she will be too confused and that it will be hard for her, as she doesn’t walk that well anymore. Adding her bigger and bigger memory loss, it would really be difficult; I understand. I do find it very sad though. If only I could be closer to her...

Mia Nonna cara,

Spero che la tua vita ti piace bene. Spero che puoi sentire il nostro amore da dove sei. Magari nelle tuoi sogni…Ti voglio tanto bene.

Alla prossima volta.

Jockey

Here we go.

I am back in France and I'm back blogging. I kept on saying before how nothing really intriguing was happening and now, everything seems to be happening too quickly...

We arrived in Nice airport last Tuesday evening. I was looking forward to take Gordon in the following days to my parent’s apartment for the first time. I was also in a rush because my dog is old and I was worried for him, I had the feeling that it might be one of the last times I would see him. Well, I didn't know it was going to be THE last one.

On Wednesday afternoon, we where having a coffee with my dad at one of our local Cafe "Chez Betty" in Villefranche sur mer, my hometown. The same lady has owned it for many (MANY) years. She use to live in Africa with her husband that was in the French foreign legion (the ones with the funny costumes).

Funny costumes yes but crazy men also!

And everyone in town knows that you don't give shit to Betty. And the ones that tried surely regret it very much... she once beat up two guys who tried to rob her bar at 2 am. 

Anyway, we where having a nice time all together when my dad received a phone call and went outside. He looked very worried. I joined him and asked what was going on:

''It's Jockey..." (My dog) he told me.

"He is not doing good and wont stand up again."

My heart started to beat faster as I knew what was going on.

I knew since a while and I prepared myself even if I was scared about it. I was about to loose my first dog, my best friend, a member of my family.

We rushed home and took him to the vet. I hadn't seen him in about 4 or 5-month maybe and an old dog like that, changes very quickly. Last time I saw him, he was starting to loose the hair around his neck and tail...it already chocked me a lot and I realized that he was really getting old. This time, he was on his blanket, front paws and head on the floor, huge belly and painful back legs. He was hardly moving.

My mom told me he lifted his head up just before I arrived. She thinks he was waiting for me to let go...he might have smelled my odor on my parent’s clothes when they came back from picking us up at the airport the day before. I really don't know. But knowing him, I wouldn't doubt it. I was always the "cuddly one" to him. My dad was the authority (with a lot of tenderness when we weren’t around to see it), my sister, the playful one. 

Now my mom. My mom was the one my dog chose. She was the one giving him food, taking care of him better than us and probably more naturally than us... She was his mom too.

He would follow her everywhere and would always cry when she'd leave for work. He would know that she was on her way back 10 minutes before she'd open the entry door of the building!

Just before we took him out of the apartment, he did something pretty incredible...

He couldn't really move so we had to rap him in his blanket to put him in the car. But just before that, he stood up and walked to her...maybe only 3 or 4 steps.

But it was amazing. She just wanted to go get something in the living room and he wanted to follow her, just like he always did. When he understood that he could go no further and that his leg wouldn't let him anyway, he simply laid down again and let us take him.

My dad and I went to the vet with him. My mom stayed with my sister. We thought that he might be back, even if just for a while. But we thought wrong.

When we arrived at the waiting room of the vet, Jockey was very scared and his heart and breath were going really fast...then I took his head and gave him a nice rub. I was crying, so was my dad. The door of the vet's office opened. It was like if a bomb had exposed in me, I knew and I hated it.

He told us there was nothing to do anymore. No operation, no medication, no nothing.

We could wait for him to go on his own or end his suffering. I'm sure you already guessed what we chose...

He told us to hold him and try to talk to him while he was preparing the injection. We where so scared, my dad and I...and so was my dog I think.

He was not calm like what you see in the movies. It's the vet, dogs hate it, and we all know that. And no you don't have half an hour to tell them how much you love them:

That was the fastest injection I've ever seen. He told us two minutes but, in what seems like two seconds later, the needle was in my dog's leg. I watched the pink product go down as my dog's breath became slower... here it was, death in front of my eyes, for the first time. It took my friend and left me a body empty of its soul, with opened eyes. That too, they do not show it in movies. They do not show you how quick and sad it is, how scared the dog can be and how they have to put a piece of paper in his bottom and a recipient under his penis. When life goes away, everything else does too...

So voila, he was already cold and my dad and I where empty too.

The vet rushed us to take a decision for the "funeral".

We have no private garden so we decided to keep his ashes that we will let go in nature. The vet's assistant that we knew for years always loved our dog and was crying with us. Even if she probably sees that all the time.

He was great and had so much love to give.

When I was sick or sad, he would come and put his head on my lap. He would also wait on my bed for me to fall a sleep every single night when I was living at my parents and would come back on the morning and stay with me until I'd get up.

We got him for my 10th birthday at the dog pound of Nice. He was already 2 years old or so and we decided that his birthday would be the 11 of Mars, the day we first brought him home, two days before mine.

We was going to be 16 years old. We kept the same name he was given at the pound.

He was brought there after the firemen found him wandering the streets of Nice. They think he was not well taken care of before us. He was also scared of hands over his head in the first few months with us. Then all that disappeared.

He lived very happily and loved us more than anything. We also loved him. 

It is very difficult to loose your dog. It was the first time I experienced such pain.

But my dog was definitely one of the closest friends I had. I mostly grew up with him and he mostly grew up with me.

We shared our best years, the ones where there was nothing to worry about.

We will miss him so much.

His name was Jockey.

I hope I'll see him again when it's my turn and I hope he'll be running like crazy! I know I will run to him.

Je t'aime mon coeur.

*I will soon add a picture of him on this post*