Human Gecko -- Nice, France

On a grassroots level we say man can touch more than he can grasp.

~Gabriel Marcel 

As I mentioned in my previous post, Patrick is/was a teacher of numerous athletic activities, so after our motorcycle ride into the Alps, he offered to teach me how to climb. 

Um. Yes. No need to twist this girl's arm.

The only experience I have with climbing is a few times on the wall at Colorado Mesa University. I've never been outdoors and I've never actually worked the ropes myself. I was elated that I'd have my first experience outdoor climbing in France. What an unbelievably perfect introduction to the sport. 

Patrick picked me up at twelve and we set off immediately for a cliff face called Alcatraz near Monaco.

 

I took to climbing like Baris takes to water and I relished every moment. Perhaps it's because Patrick is a patient, encouraging teacher and perhaps it's because the years of yoga and carpentry have given me the strength, flexibility and concentration necessary to scale intimidating (to me) French precipices. Climbing was a meditation to me -- finding the crooks and crannies on the rock face. Brushing my fingers back and forth, up and down in search of the perfect hold. Feeling the grit beneath my nails and the surfaces made smooth by the dozens of climbers before me. Clinging to the wall with my toes, feeling the temperature of the rock close to my torso, and finding the proper leverage before catapulting myself to the next hold. 

Savoring the sensation of accomplishment at the top of the route. Feeling like superman.

Patrick! I showed his picture to Baris, and my dear Turkish friend said, "He looks like a rockstar."

View from the top of the climb

Success!

When I first arrived at Baris' apartment, he pointed out a gecko that had made itself at home on his white ceiling near the window. Much to our disappointment, the gecko decamped a few days later, leaving the ceiling sadly empty. So I sent Baris one of my climbing pictures and said, "I went to the market to buy some fruit and turned into a gecko. Wasn't that thoughtful of me? Now we have a gecko again."

I wasn't aware that climbing involved so much gear. It's almost as expensive as it is exhilarating.

A view of Monaco from where we climbed

After we'd mutually and rather reluctantly decided we'd had enough climbing for one afternoon, we hopped on his motorcycle and blazed down the mountain into Monaco. We stopped at a restaurant/bar on the beach, donned our swimsuits (minus the complications encountered in , and ordered a couple of drinks. These restaurants can be prohibitively expensive for the average non-ferrari owning bloke, but it's a great idea to just purchase a glass of wine (still exorbitant, but not obscenely so) so that you can use the changing rooms, the beach, the showers, and the couches. Just make sure you really nurse that wine.

Patrick took out his flippers, mask and snorkel and we walked along the dock, sitting down at the end and sliding into our gear. He then adjusted my mask and showed me how to jump in.

Have I clarified just how terrible I am in the water? I desperately want to feel comfortable and competent, but water all around makes me feel claustrophobic and panicky. I can't relax, focus, or enjoy the sensations of just being in the sea -- similar to the way I feel when caught in large crowds. But Patrick took my hand and led me through the water. My breath came rapidly and sporadically. I swallowed water, coughed, and swallowed water again; but feeling his hand guiding me along reassured me enough to keep going. He pointed out the fish swimming underneath us and let go of my hand long enough to dive down to see them at eye level. I stayed at the top, floundering in circles with those big flippers and envying his ease.

That evening, I found myself just wanting to nap, but ended up going for a run along the beach with Baris (for an embarrassingly short period of time) and leading my enthusiastic friend through a yoga routine for runners.

I love that Baris is so interested in yoga. Sharing my practice keeps me motivated in my passion, centered in myself, and connected with others.

Preconceptions: I definitely wouldn't say French people are lazy. I think they just take more time to enjoy the good things in their lives than the stereotypical American. Like lunch. French employees generally get a two hour lunch break, while Americans get what, twenty minutes? Nice is a difficult place to judge work ethic though, as it's a retirement/tourist town and most people spend their days walking the beach, browsing through shops in the old town, and sunbathing.

Challenges: None today.