We took off in our van and boarded a ferry for Roscoff last week for our honeymoon, or as they say in France, Voyages de Noces. The countryside looks almost identical to my beloved Devon, so it was great to be exploring a new land that looked so much like home. It was especially good to be surrounded with nature that I could connect to because the ferry over was a special kind of hell for me. Bright lights, people everywhere, screaming kids, and regular tannoy announcements that were terrifyingly loud. I’m noticing now what happens in my body with this form of sensory overload and I can only say it feels like I’m in a war zone. I can tell myself logically that it’s all fine but it’s become clear that my brain isn’t linked in such a way that it is able to instruct my body not to panic, so every time a kid screamed or the tannoy burst into noise, I felt as though I was under attack. In the end, I spent a whopping £30 on headphones (I really should have brought my own, so that annoyed me) and on the journey home, we booked a lifesaving cabin (although there were still tannoy announcements clearly designed for the hard of hearing, or is it perhaps to be audible above the din that is hundreds of people all in the same space?).
The first few days were bliss. We camped and played the guitar and sang. I cooked lovely vegan food al fresco and the sun shone. We took long walks along the river and I took photographs everywhere. The landscape is truly stunning as you can see…
I was struck by the vastness of the countryside, with unspoilt lakes scattered everywhere and vistas so stunning it was breathtaking. Everywhere we drove were lush green tree tunnels and panoramic views of far stretching countryside with barely another person on the road. Roads seemed largely devoid of potholes and Paul kept commenting on what a pleasure it was to drive; so very different to the country lanes we try to navigate back home. I suspect a vigilante resident has filled some of the potholes on West Lane near our land as it’s just the worst ones that have been filled in, but in France, the roads were smooth and we glided along them in a state of bliss.
We camped the first couple of nights, and I cooked, but when we arrived at the first of the two Chambre D’Hotes we had booked, it became more of a challenge because we are vegans, and it’s hard to be a vegan in France; especially when meat eaters are trying to feed you. I’m getting very good at making delicious home cooked, cruelty free food, so placing the responsibility of feeding us on people that don’t have that same experience meant disappointment, not just because we were fed potatoes and veg as a main course (it was delicious, but I couldn’t help feeling like I was just eating a side dish) but because they presented the other guests with a chicken that they had roasted in a bizarre sitting up position and brought it out to the table sizzling in it’s roasting dish. It was almost comical had it not been so upsetting for us. We tried to politely ask if we could take our vegetables outside, but they looked at us so so confused, I blurted out I can’t sit at a table while people eat my friends. Later (and again at breakfast) I ended up profusely apologising for being so militant in my veganism and making people feel awkward, but the truth is, I find being in the presence of dead animal flesh, whether cooked or raw totally abhorrent now. Have I fallen so far down the rabbit hole I can’t see anything the way I used to? I don’t like the idea of being rude, but now I’m home, I wonder if I should I be apologising to people that I find it so upsetting to see beautiful creatures that want to live, killed, stripped of their skin, hair and guts and dished up on a plate. We should all find it upsetting because our survival simply doesn’t depend on it anymore. It’s entirely a selfish, tastebud thing coupled with conditioning that this is normal. If I accept this level of apathy towards the real consequences of what people are eating, aren’t I somehow condoning it?
Let me ask you; would you find it abhorrent if you went to someone’s house and they had made a human stew and dished you up a bowl with the flesh of human limbs in it? Imagine it for a moment, it’s the stuff of horror movies, right? Now consider that I experience that same horror at the thought of eating animals. They are sentient beings just like us; they feel pain and emotion and want to live.
On the campsite, there were a gaggle of geese that we made friends with. At first, approaching the fence to their enclosure resulted in some very loud telling off from the geese, but I sang to them and they soon calmed down. Before long, if I approached the fence, they came over to see me and had a wee picnic on the grasses there while I sang to them again. It made it all the more painful when I then found myself in a French grocery store and considered what the French do to geese to make Foie Gras, and how these beautiful, intelligent creatures are force fed until their liver explodes. Have we grown so accustomed to being barbaric, we can’t see what we’re doing?
Camping Milin Kerh just north of Guingamp had some exquisite walks, and it was interesting to see that Himalayan Balsam Wood has taken over in Brittany too.
I wanted to tell the campsite owners what I had seen and explain how it needs pulling out, but I’m trying be more aware about how my well intentioned desire to share my knowledge can come across as rude, so I held my tongue. It wasn’t easy, but their free range pet rabbits placated me (I sang to them as well). God, I hope they don’t eat them. The owner’s mother told me that there was one goose she didn’t like and wanted to eat it for Christmas. I didn’t tell her I was a vegan, but oh my, that was hard too.
I’ve come home inspired. Not just by the countryside, but by the art we saw when we drove through beautiful (and deserted) towns. We wandered through a silver birch forest and I want to paint the picture I took of it on the side of the horsebox lorry. I’m itching to paint, to write, to create. I might burst if I don’t do something soon!
We’ve decided we want to learn to weld and make garden sculptures (and weld the horsebox lorry too perhaps?), and after seeing how beautiful a simple arch with plants growing over it can make for stunning glimpses of what lies beyond. I’d love to place some archways around on our land, and create beautiful and distinct spaces.
During the last couple of days of our honeymoon, I took a tumble down some steep stone steps and banged my head. Bruised and battered all over, it led to me feeling quite wobbly. I managed to break my fall halfway down by grabbing onto the railing, but had I not slowed the speed at which I was heading towards that rock, I could be dead. It’s customary for me to imagine the worst outcomes to most situations (part of my Autism apparently) but I hadn’t imagined that one. I hurt everywhere and I now know pain in my body makes me far more sensitive to anxiety triggers, so by the time got home (after another hell ferry), I spent a whole day crying and wishing I hadn’t come home to so many unpleasant things to deal with like a court case and staff rota. I want to go back to France, back to long walks, back to imagining what I’d grow over archways, and how I am going to word the first paragraph of my new novel.
If we sell the business, there will be months of handing it over and hand holding for the new buyer. I’m not sure I can wait that long to leave Exeter. If we can find a house near the land (and there’s a chance – we have a viewing lined up), then it could all come to be in just over a month. My scary court case against a bully is on September 3rd. If I’m honest, all I can think about is getting that out of the way. It involves family, and I feel the heartache of it like a physical pain in my chest. It would be unwise to make such big decisions while my heart flutters with anxiety at every second or third thought which largely centres around the injustice of it all. I don’t have the ability like neurotypicals do to close the door on the unhelpful thoughts, and they keep coming thick and fast as the date of the hearing approaches.
We want to live in Dolton. We want to be near our land. That’s all each of us knows for sure right now. Maybe in the long term, if Dolton doesn’t want an outdoor eduction centre and place of sanctuary, then maybe we will just sell up everything and buy 30 acres in France. Once this court case is out of the way, I think everything will fall into place. And I’ll paint this Hydrangea.