Unpacking -- Devon, England

It is vain to do with more what could be done with less. 

~William of Occam 

I'm starting this post from my dormitory room of my new home in Devon, England. The walls are white, the bedspreads are checkered and a bouquet of red roses rests next to a mirror on the dresser to my left. Rosie works on her ipad, randomly breaking out into bits and piece of song. Kayla plays with her iphone, randomly heaving large sighs and tiny sneezes. I sit in the middle with my massive macbook pro and really feel like the bulky, inefficient traveler I am.

All these electronics make my life so heavy. I have to find a way to downsize. This is just ridiculous. 

Strange photos that manage to combine Jesus, spaceships and yogic gods decorate the walls. The bed is moderately more comfortable than my Istanbul futon and I have an entire chest in which to unpack my bag. 

Unpacking felt good. Leaving my laptop on my bed and not having to worry about a one-year-old child electrocuting herself on the cord felt great. Leaving my dirty teacup on the nightstand for over twenty-four hours felt amazing. 

Yes. That is MY dirty teacup. That is MY nightstand. I will leave MY dirty teacup on MY nightstand for as long as I so please. GARAAARAAAAARrrrr, et cetera.

 I also wore my boots inside. 

I think part of me expected to suddenly be trampled to death by a herd of stampeding rhinos. I walked in the door with my Timberlands... looked around cautiously... waited... waited for someone to drop dead from a rare form of bacteria that only grows on the bottom of leather boots. Waited to drop dead myself from mortally offending the god who prefers his followers to keep their homes tidy. 

Inhale. Exhale. Wait. 

Nothing happened. I took another step just to make sure. 

I don't think you're in Turkey anymore, Bourget

Although I share the room with two other girls, I feel like I have more privacy now than I've had for the last three months. Turkish families are beautifully sincere and very connected, and I think this is one of the reasons boundaries are so... well... nonexistent. Umit and Seher and Ayse did their best to accommodate my American sensibilities and I did my best to adapt to their Turkish, but we all fell short at times and had to simply work on being patient and loving.

I spent yesterday walking and writing and yoga-ing -- the three most relaxing activities I could think of.  After eating a small breakfast of quinoa/millet porridge with walnuts and raisins (which felt so out of place after three months of olives and cheese), I took a quick shower, donned a borrowed rain jacket and headed down to the beach for a walk. 

The girls had told me that if I walked down to the beach and swung a left, I'd be able to follow the coastal path towards Ilfracombe. Although I had no intention of walking the twelve mile round trip (I was still feeling super low energy), I decided to walk until I was tired. And then walk back. As one does.

My soul is so happy here.

I believe I was just as much excited by the free toilets as I was by the wildlife and dinosaur park. This is what Europe does to you.

Tide was out. So were the shell hunters.

I am once again in the land of benches and views. And people who sit on benches just to look at pretty views.

These little acorns mark the National Trust Coastal Path. It cuts through fields and villages, but always brings you back to the gorgeous Devon coast.

I found a friend. I think it's a Shetland, but I can't be sure. I haven't been a "horse girl" for a number of years now, and I'm beginning to lose track of all the breeds I'd not only memorized, but had mini model versions lining my shelves and closet. I think my horse girl self died when a friend from university told me to throw away my favorite raggedy horse girl sweater.

My boots got so muddy here. And I loved it.

Spring in England. Is coming. I might just catch it.

Crocuses blooming.

Signs farmers put out for walkers. The National Trust cuts a path through this local's field, so the person simply put a sign up to ask walkers to please keep to the edges. I love this sort of thing. Signs like this make the outdoors accessible to everyone.

These protruding branches resemble a happy dog to me. So I thought I'd share. Because everyone loves happy dogs.

I found the local castle. Every English town has a local castle.

 

I found one of the local sheep farms. Every English town must have at least three local sheep farms.

I was hailed on twice, drizzled on for an hour and cold for every second.

But I heard no horns. I smelled no exhaust. I saw no skyscrapers.

This is my element.

I heard the birds and the crashing of the waves. I smelled the ocean and the sweet, dripping grass. I saw the few friendly walkers with their ubiquitous chocolate lab and exchanged warm barks and hellos.

I returned home at three thirty, made a cup of organic hot chocolate and settled into a beanbag chair in the living room to write.

Goodness, I am so satisfied. Who cares about this Jesus from Mars business? I'm  fulfilled here. That's quite enough.

Harriet invited me to join in on her hour and a half yoga session that evening. It was soothing and invigorating and everything that I needed.