Away to the French Countryside

Deb.

I was pretty positive I had gone completely mad as I stood on the curb outside the train station in Lisieux, France. I was waiting for my ride to an unknown destination from a mystery host in the countryside. All I knew about my host was that her name was Deb, she was British and she was looking for help with house maintenance. We had corresponded on the website, “Workaway,” only briefly to confirm my stay with her and exchange my train arrival and her license plate number. I glanced at the time anxiously and looked around once more at the crowd that was slowly dwindling away. 

Built in 1756 and nestled between apple trees and a small pond. A little refuge from the busy streets of Paris in the countryside.

The sun had set, and I watched my fellow passengers from the Paris > Lisieux train hug loved ones and clamber into the back seats of cars with awkward luggage. I was getting ever more alone by the minute, my ball cap and sandals clearly marking me as a vulnerable foreigner alone at a dark train station in the middle of suburban France. I thought that if anything, I could turnaround and get back on a train to Paris and book somewhere to sleep once I got Wi-Fi. I thought that if things really turned for the worse, I could stay on that train all the way to the airport and just buy my ticket home from there straight away. I could go back to work and find a cute apartment in the Avenues suburb of Salt Lake City. I could paint my kitchen table yellow. I could buy a puppy and spend the rest of my days safely confined within the state of Utah.

Mont St. Michel

Overlooking one of the beaches in Normandy, where the allied forces liberated Europe from Nazi Germany in 1944.

These thoughts raced through my head in the six minutes I stood on that curb, while also allowing the horror stories about stranger danger and cat phishing to infiltrate my mind. Just as I was asking someone to use a phone, a little Hyundai Coupe with the matching license plate number to the one I had scrawled on the back of my hand pulled into the parking lot. I began walking towards the car as a woman got out of the right side driver’s seat, a British car! Deb. She embraced me in a hug, helped lug my suitcase into the trunk of the car and offered me a sweet green apple. We chatted as she drove me to her home, a cottage built in 1756, still standing just outside a town that was nearly decimated during World War II. She served me a bowl of Moroccan soup and throughout the next two weeks we shared many meals together in the company of several others that also decided to trust the goodness of the Internet. We joined forces from all walks of life to complete the work that Deb required in exchange for hot meals and warm beds to sleep in and enriching conversations about the world.

My fellow "Workawayers" walking back to the famous van turned mobile home with our leftover wine from a local restaurant in Vimoutiers, France. 

Sebastian Booth came from England. He is a skilled musician with a love for jazz and intellectual reads about feminism among other varied topics. He is a deep thinker whose questions always sparked my curiosity, and silenced many of us as we digested his questions and pondered. “Do you think sharks would be embarrassed if they knew we could see their fins above the water?” “Do you ever think about the horrors of drifting?” I wish I could remember more of the questions. Sebastian- you are an exquisite thinker.

Laia and Ramon had traveled from their hometown in Valencia, Spain in a van that had been converted into a living space- complete with a bed and kitchen. They are free spirited, kind humans who offered Sebastian and I a spot in their van to places like the D-day Beaches and Mont St. Michel on our days off. They said that many of their family and friends back home had urged them to go the traditional route and get married after being together for so many years. Start a family. Buy a house. Instead they quit their jobs and booked themselves a one-way ticket to South Africa. They should be in South Africa by now, and I wish them the best of luck as they continue to inspire others to color outside the lines.

All of us had quit our formal jobs and all of us bonded over books and coffee breaks along with Deb. We painted walls, measured new carpet, installed baseboards and uprooted weeds together. It was hard work and yet rewarding when we put a room back together or did a final rake over fresh soil. The end of a workday brought wine, or a gin and tonic and a home cooked meal.  

Chocolate mousse from a restaurant in the town square to celebrate the end of our time together!

Our host, Deb, seemed to be unafraid when it came to life and love. She voiced her opinion brazenly without offense and was not sorry for speaking her mind. I loved that. She went to the beach one Sunday by herself to swim in the sea and spends time painting whimsical pieces, which now hang in every room of the house. I was in awe when it was discovered that she was the artist of the yellow elephants in the dining room, which I had been admiring since my arrival. The colors and brushstrokes swept across each canvas in a demonstration of passion for the art. She appreciates every unique character that graces her life path. Deb is a beautiful soul, and I was more astounded every day by her ideas about the world.

One of Deb's pieces, featuring the chakra colors. 

I never thought that the Internet would lead these five wanderers to each other and I am so happy that it did. I am mostly happy that none of us were secretly cat phishing the other. I am especially happy that we all took a risk and because of that, we were able to create connections with each other and learn more about ourselves in the process. Bon voyage to each and every one of you on your future travels!