Waking up in Italy

Back in September, I took myself on a trip to San Remo, Italy. It was a most memorable solo-voyage, one I hadn't taken in what felt like a long time. I drove across the Italian border in my little manuel Citroën Saxo (a.k.a the little old car that could). I still remember the gorgeous view along the French Mediterranean coast as the soft sea breeze brushed against my cheeks and the late September sun warmed my skin. 

Today marks the 7th-year anniversary of my blog Garden Gallivanter. Seven years ago today I wrote my first post. No matter where I am year after year, I am always drawn to reflect on this day, to write to you. Luckily, (knock on wood) I've been able to write and have had access to internet to post every birthday year so far. Usually, I reflect on the year and on how I and this blog have grown. I hope to achieve the same thing, except, this year, to change things up a bit, I want to tell you about my trip to San Remo because it encompasses who I have evolved to be this year. Here is what I wrote from my hotel room:



September 18th, 2019
San Remo, Italy

I used to be scared to be wrong or to make a fool of myself, but now, being nearly 31 (OMG Really?!), I embrace my inner-fool. If we are afraid to be wrong or to make mistakes, we miss out on opportunities to learn and grow. I think it comes back to that concept of vulnerability. 

Brené Brown wrote in her book Daring Greatly,"Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, accountability, and authenticity. If we want greater clarity in our purpose or deeper and more meaningful spiritual lives, vulnerability is the path."

Art along my stroll in the old city. 

This concept has been revolutionary in my life. I think part of it was forced upon me to be honest, forced in a good way, a little push perhaps is the better way to put it. Being an ex-pat, I’ve had to learn, and still learn, how to live in a foreign country. It’s not feeling as foreign anymore, but I still remember the days of google translating from French to English “I would like to send this letter to the United States, please.” Everyday tasks such as going to the post office was a little extra, extra scary, extra vulnerable.

Thankfully that learning curve has passed in France, but I continue to gain these little moments of “extra” just across the border in Italy. I am in San Remo, on the Italian Riviera, known as the Lingurian coast. It’s absolutely beautiful. I just drove across, past Monaco, past Menton, and somewhere after one of those toll booths I had crossed over to Italie.

My darling little hotel room. 

Gorgeous sea view from my hotel room. 

It’s been a few years since I’ve been in Italy. Living on the French/Italian border isn’t so bad. I feel like we are blessed with the best of both worlds. I decided to treat myself to a little work/play experience. I’ve been itching to travel, and this was plausible and I could do it independently. I wanted a new landscape to write and found just the perfect little hotel room to do just that. 

Just the view is inspiring enough and helps me get into character to finish our family memoir. It allows me to feel and sense the childhood home in Vietnam with ocean view as my Auntie Barbara tells me about and remembers so fondly. Jorris always reminds me that the Mediterranean is a sea and not an ocean, but it’s the same kind of atmosphere.

Coffee and computer in bed, sea view, a writer's kind of morning. 

It’s amazing how changing our physical space a little can create new space in our minds and spirit. It feels so good here, having time to myself, out of the daily routines and tasks. It’s so refreshing. I took myself out to dinner last night at the sweetest little tavern that was kind of in a shady area but so quaint with delicious homemade Italian foods and drinks. Did I think of Jorris, of course. I thought how much he would have loved everything. Nonetheless, it wasn’t a sad or longing kind of thinking of him. I had a wonderful evening out and could just people watch as I enjoyed every bite and sip of my meal in peace.

While strolling and shopping through the Mercato di San Remo, my senses were dazzled. The food portion of the market was gorgeous. Vibrant colors of red and yellow peppers, sun dried tomatoes, peperoncino and bruschetta spices, the colorful pastas, the fresh fish and octopus, and of course the huge rough and rustic blocks of Parmigiano Reggiano. I chose the one aged 36 mesi (months)! This one is the best, strong, rich. Just hearing a different language spoken and seeing different styles of clothing and people, just across the border, can be so enriching and recharging. I love being somewhere new and submerging myself in the unfamiliar.

Summer on a plate. Best sun-dried tomatoes I've ever tasted.

Goodies from the market, spices, pasta, polenta, Parmigianno.

To top it off I found some cute jewelry rom India and Nepal at this stand and also a cute little linen romper. The market also takes place outside with different vendors selling purses, dresses, jewelry and more. It’s a sunburst, bright yellow, so fun and spontaneous. I wore my new jumper and necklace out to dinner last night. But the most special outfit I put together was with my Grandma Ma's silk blouse. I had been waiting for the right occasion to wear the delicate and beautiful blouse. Wearing it in Italy seemed perfect. I felt like I brought Grandma with me on a night out in San Remo. 

Artful dessert at Taverna al 29

Travelling has always kept me on my toes and that’s one thing about it that I have always loved and grow to love more and more. For example, I had made a mistake at the car garage parking and didn’t know that you had to pay before exiting, so at the exit, I kept putting in my credit card, which kept getting rejected. There were a few cars behind me, so I began getting nervous to make people wait. I pushed the intercom help button and in English said I need help and the voice yelled some nonsensical words back to me in Italian and hung up! So what do I do now I thought?

I stepped out of my car and asked the man behind me in half Italian/half French...my brain keeps going back between the two. It’s been many years since my study abroad days in Firenze where I knew basic Italian, but some words have come back.

“Scusa,”(Italian for excuse me) I said to the man, standing at this window.. “c’est marche pas” (French for it’s not working). Luckily, he was French and said, “Il faut payer avant en haute,” (you have to pay in advance up there). His wife was in the passenger seat and quite annoyed that my little saxo and ignorance was blocking their way out. She said in French something like you can back up in that space there and not block us; there are cars trying to get out. The old me would have felt sad or been offended, or upset, at her tone of voice. But I came from such a place of compassion and right away thought to myself she’s just probably hungry, tired of the market, or they have lunch reservations somewhere. I didn’t react to her comment. I didn’t take it personally, and while it was an awkward situation and I felt nervous for 2 cars waiting for me, I just backed up, found a new parking spot, and found the little machine to pay which was upstairs and then returned downstairs to my car and then I was able to exit.

Wearing Grandma Ma's blouse for a night out. 

Soft, silky and I felt all of her good energy.

Overall, Italians are welcoming and it’s been lovely, though I’ve been yelled at by passing vespas and other cars. I don’t know if it’s because I’m driving too slow or if I’m breaking some sort of traffic rule...or both. I did accidentally drive the wrong way in a parking lot and an oncoming car shook her index finger at me. But it’s all good and while it doesn’t feel good to be yelled at in a language you don’t understand, I’m forgiving and understanding to myself that I am new around this neighborhood and need to drive slowly and look for streets, etc. I am also learning to drive with European traffic signs...and a stick shift; so in the bigger picture, even though it may look like I’m “failing” on the roads here, I’m succeeding so much in life! Growing up I did not drive a manuel, but I’ve learned! And we don’t have roundabouts really in the states like here, so learning how to drive through those has been quite a feat for me.

“There is no innovation and creativity without failure. Period.”

                                                        - Brené Brown

I feel so liberated and grateful to be in this space of no fear. I’m not afraid to fail anymore. In fact, I embrace it wholeheartedly. This is huge for me because upon reflecting, as a kid I was terrified of being wrong or failing. I’m not really sure why because my parents were never hard on me or got mad at me for making mistakes. I suppose it was an inner fear. I was always afraid to be wrong in class and only raised my hand, (if that!) when I knew the answer was for sure right.

Favorite outfit with Grandma Ma's blouse. 

It feels wonderful to be shed of that skin of failure. I’m still scared of things of course! But, now I can laugh at my foolishness and relish in it even when cars drive past me and yell at me, or if my Italian is incomprehensible. Now I can just make reservations over the phone in Italian, without having it be perfect, and just trust that I still remember some Italian (with the help of google translate). If for nothing else, I do it because it challenges me; and it’s fun to speak Italian.

I used to be an all-or-nothing girl. The best and all of it or none of it. I’m much more flexible these days and just live by what feels good and right, with all the imperfections. Being a gardener and living in the countryside, I’ve grown to learn that even if a veggie or fruit looks imperfect (based on commercial standards), it is still a beautifully tasting veggie or fruit. In nature, rocks and trees, mountains, streams, are imperfectly perfect just the way they are. So, as an embodiment of Mother Earth, I too can be imperfectly perfect just the way I am. 

Dinner: Clam linguini pasta paired with a glass of white wine al fresco. 

I've grown to really enjoy time with myself. Strolling on the cobblestone streets of Liguria after a scrumptious clam pasta dinner with a nocciola gelato in hand could easily become a new tradition for me. I will cherish these memories and this me-trip for years to come. Knowing that Jorris is always there for me, but that I am always there for me too, has been revolutionary new-found knowledge. I feel like this new independence, self-knowing, prepares me for something great to come. The relationship we have with ourselves might be the most important before any other relationship in our lives. This year I've learned to nurture and listen to my inner-myself, to speak up for my soul. Cheers to Garden Gallivanter and another year of writing. Thank you for being here, for reading and sharing in my life. The honor is mine. 31, here I come! 

Old City, San Remo, Italy

*photos by me. 

Happy 8th Year Anniversary

It's a chilly Saturday morning here in St. Leger. Roua is nudging me to wake, her little fingers pulling at my hair. I turn towards her, still half asleep. She's been patient and waiting, nuzzled beside me under the down blanket. I peel my still-sleepy eyes open to see her sweet face. "Good Morning baby," I whisper. She smiles big. "Mama is still sleepy," I say, closing my eyes. She graciously gives me another minute before clawing at my face and squirming around in her sleep sac. "EEEEE!" she declares, tensing her body. This translates to: Ok, time to get up Mom! So I spring up like a Dandelion in March. I take a moment to orient myself to a new day, the sun shines brightly through our bedroom window. Roua is excited to get up. I pick her up and we make our way to the living room. 

It's toasty and inviting. Papa has started the wood fire, as he normally does for us. "Bonjour mon amour," I greet Jorris, who's by the fire, with a kiss. I put Roua down to play in her playpen and make my usual chicory with cream. Today is a special day and even through all the busy chaos of life and my mom-brain short-term memory, I remember it's the 8th year anniversary of this blog, my first baby, Garden Gallivanter. In fact, I've been anticipating this day the whole week. What will I write? Will I have a chance to write? I worry for a minute. 

But then, I turn on my computer and out of curiosity look at what I wrote this day last year. Sipping my chicory, I look back on my trip to San Remo, Italy where I took a solo trip to write and rest, last Fall. Roua starts getting fussy, so I carry her and we both read together. The end of that post reads: 

I feel like this new independence, self-knowing, prepares me for something great to come. The relationship we have with ourselves might be the most important before any other relationship in our lives. This year I've learned to nurture and listen to my inner-self, to speak up for my soul.

Little did I know that that great something would be my daughter Roua. One month after that trip, I found out I was pregnant, and so, those two lines appearing on that pregnancy test marked the beginning of my greatest adventure into Motherhood, into Womanhood. 

Roua at 4.5 months old. 

Roua's new trick is the "ugly face".

I smile in excitement, inspired by something I can now write about to commemorate this day. Now, for the photos. I spontaneously look around at what we have that I can use as props and take Roua into the bedroom for her 4-month homemade photoshoot. It's a nice ritual I am enjoying, these monthly photoshoots, a nice little creative challenge. I quickly toss some apples we bought yesterday at the bio store into a hand basket and with Roua in the other arm, we go into the bed room. She seems to enjoy these photoshoots as she is always smiling. I make a number 4 with the apples and have just enough apples that it looks like a decent 4! Yesterday, I had wondered why Jorris bought so many apples, we never eat so many so quickly, and now I know why. 

The apples are just one event affirming my strong belief that everything happens for a reason. We were meant to get that many apples for the photoshoot today. I was meant to go to Digne for my réeducation du périnée (perineum reeducation) with my sage femme (midwife). And because we have been going to Digne for my bi-weekly appointments, we get to see my friend Hilary who had her baby 3 days before Roua. In fact, we have the same midwife. And because I get to see my friend Hilary and go on our little walks, yesterday with hot chocolate in our hands, and our babes with their papas ahead of us, I feel so re-energized and happy. we started this book club, exchanging books, very casual but so wonderful. Yesterday she wanted to lend me a book which I had thought to lend her! How our minds are on the same wave length. But this is all to say that if it hadn't been for that big boulder to fall during the major storm last month that destroyed part of the road to Nice, I might not have had the opportunity to consider going back to Dinge for my appointments. Since I had given birth in Nice, I was planning to go back to do a postpartum follow-up with my doctor, as instructed, who would prescribe me réeducation du périnée sessions. It would also be convenient to practice driving around Nice (for my French driving license exam), perhaps even making honey deliveries, if needed, but then we changed plans because of the boulder and all for the better (although many thoughts go out to those lives who were lost and affected by the storm negatively).

Blessings in disguises are real. I am so happy to be back with my sage femme Hélène. I am learning so much from her to reeducate my perineum muscles and have been really enjoying discovering those muscles and that part of my body that I never engaged in so mindfully before. With her finger inside me she instructs in French, "now, imagine a lotus flower closing in the evening, imagine that same motion as your vagina and those muscles around it closing in and lifting up a little". I close my eyes, take a deep breath and on my exhale, visualize my lotus flower closing. "That's exactly it! I could feel that suction motion with my finger," Hélène says, exuberated.  She has given me many exercises with metaphors like this one to work with, along with showing me visual illustrations of muscle anatomy. As someone who is fascinated by mind and body connections, I am intrigued to learn more. Her office also has a wonderful ambiance, which Roua seems to enjoy. Jorris kindly accompanies me too. 

My puppy and I in the garden.

Our Winter Window Garden

Roua meets Romaine.

France is an amazing country in so many ways, one of which being its universal healthcare system. One of the pilars of France's political and societal foundation is égalité, equality. France believes that all of her people should have medical care, no matter one's job or social status. Everyone deserves to be well and healthy. It is a human right. So my health insurance pays for these réeducation du périnée sessions with my midwife, which are standard for all women postpartum. We have therapy and training/exercises to strengthen and heal other parts of our body, why not down there? Nothing like this exists back in the States, not at a national standard level, at least not based on my knowledge.  I appreciate this so much because it shows a respect for the health and well-being of the Mother as well (there are many services for babies too which I'll get into in another post). Quality of life. There is such a value here for quality of life.

                     

Roua is remarkably calm at the moment, sitting in my lap as I type. Her temperament is usually calm, but she is being extra calm, très sage, the expression we say for a baby or child behaving well. I put on some music; she likes music. This morning we went out to check on our winter window garden. The Romaine lettuce and kale are growing so beautifully! I let Roua feel the texture of salad and kale. It has been our ritual to check on our winter garden and water when necessary. Jorris turns the manure which we get from the neighbors goats and sheep. He found the window panes from the junk yard and built the garden. We got the idea from our friends Marie et Samuel. They have amazing aromatics growing in their winter window garden. They are shepherds and so put their manure around the window box to keep it warm since the manure is warm. We do the same and it works so well. I love learning from friends willing to teach and share. It's a nice feeling. 

Our Winter Window Garden

Papa turns the compost pile. 

It's been a beautiful Saturday; the sun is shining. Life is good. It's a beautiful day to celebrate another year of blogging. If you had asked me this day last year where I imagined I would be on the same day next year, I would never have imagined this day as it has turned out to be: waking up on a chilly morning to the beautiful face of my daughter, taking photos of her, strolling in our garden with her, her sitting in my lap as I write. My puppy. She's very much like puppy these days, playful, curious, wants to put everything in her mouth. I take her on walks. She has a playpen. She even learned this new trick. She makes an "ugly face" as we translate from Vietnamese. She scrunches up her nose like a bunny, and it's the cutest thing. My Mom tells me I did the same thing! I actually remember this from a home video of me as a baby. We video chat nearly ever day, so my Mom sees Roua make the face and we all have a laugh, including Roua. She even showed her new "trick" to Hélène and Hilary and Franck yesterday. We all had a laugh. I'll end it here for now. Cheers to 8 years and more laughs ahead. And to fitting into my pre-pregnancy jeans for the first time today!!! Thank you for being here and sharing in the magic with me. As always, the honor is mine. 

*photos by me.