jackandthecitylights.org

I got interviewed by the organization I rode across America with last summer! These guys are doing good things. Check out their site at: www.bike-america.org

Not what I Expected

The next contact I was headed for turned out to be spice dealers. Not the farmers as my friend had described to me. Never the less they turned out to be great hosts for the two weeks that I stayed with them. They had horses, ferocious geese that wanted to spill my blood across the rocky soil, chickens, and a wonderful garden set in a red valley of vineyards in the south of France.

While there I learned many things about the area, french culture, and got to improved my french. I worked up in the mountains with my host pulling trees down for firewood with his work horses.

I lived in a wagon with a wood stove to keep out the freezing temperatures. I spent my evenings reading and making chapattis. I accompanied my hosts to the markets in the surrounding villages and busked for the journey north.

After some host cancelations I confirmed a stay north of Limoges which just happened to be in the coldest region of all of France.

I hitched a ride for half of the distance from a most interesting individual. He had recently finished some volunteer work in the north of France helping refugees in Calai. The refugees were from the middle east to Africa. Calai is the crossing point from France to England. Conditions for the refugees in this town however are hauntingly similar to those for the Jews in Nazi Germany. Police their have set up various harassment routines. They have destroyed their main camp, and arrest any they find in groups larger than 4. During the cold winter months they arrest them, drive them far from their dwellings, take their clothes, and leave them to walk back in sub-freezing temperatures. People who let a refugee sleep in their house face a 5 year prison sentence.

This is a serious threat to the freedom, the democracy of all Europeans and nations that associate with them. The more crimes against humanity we turn a blind eye to the greater the chances of these crimes someday being committed against our own family and friends.

Riding through the french countryside

I was dropped off at a low point in the Massif Central, Clermont-Ferrand.

First day was mountains until I dropped (at a pathetically low milage I might add). I slept on a riverbank in a forest of huge oak and chestnut trees.

Second day was hilly but bearable. I cruised along through countless sleepy hamlets of stone cottages, and old countrymen. Smoke rose from brick and stone chimneys over fields green to join the grey rainy skies above. I broke another pole on my tent and cut the shit out of my hand, but managed to repair it and get to bed without bleeding on all of my possessions. Slept on a bed of ivy in a forest of fir trees.

Third day. Bad news from home, future plans wrecked, lost my pants, soaked to the bone, had a gun pulled on me, and my knee gave out. Not exactly the best day so far. I arrived at my new host’s farm in the middle of the night, lightening crackling and booming, completely soaked and somewhat discouraged mumbling something about lost pants. Beny, who was asleep, welcomed me in, gave me some dry clothes and hot chocolate and showed me to my caravan. The roof leaked and part of the floor was gone but I had enough dry space to sleep in.

Rough times. What does that mean? It doesn’t, because I am in love with every second of every day. Despite the set backs I know that I am in exactly the right place at exactly the right time.

Next post will be about my life here on Mars Farm.