Stripping the Bed -- Bad Munster, Germany

Rejoicing in our joy, not suffering in our suffering makes someone a friend. 

~Friedrich Nietzsche 

This is my last morning in the Germany loft. It's six am and the only sound is the quiet clicking of my keyboard. My bags are nearly packed -- I just have to finish organizing my plethora of cables, put plastic bags around my smelly boots and locate the case for my prescription glasses. In a few minutes, I'll have to strip my sheets from the bed and stick them in the washing machine (sans dead dormouse) and prepare the space for the next workawayer.

It's always a hard moment. It's a moment of feeling replaceable -- interchangeable, in a way. I mean, I know that I'm a unique person and as such, make a unique impact everywhere I go... but the knowledge that someone else will be sleeping in my bed, feeding alpacas, walking dogs and laughing with Billie and Julia tomorrow makes me feel like a jealous ex-girlfriend.

Which is all very mature.

But it's a hard moment, and that's that. I've only been here for three weeks, but I know where Billie likes to sit on the couch (so when she's around, I never sit there). I know which coffee cup is her favorite (and so I never touch it). I know that she likes cilantro, kalamata olives, fatty yogurt, and thinks my scones are divine. I know how to lead a yoga routine that suits her. I know what and when to feed the cats and dogs, I've learned their names and have even given the most aloof cat a half seductive, half bored French accent.

So I'll be stripping the bed in a few minutes, and it'll be hard. Like it always is.

Well, not always. When I've had a bad experience, there's nothing more satisfying than ripping off blankets and thinking, "NEVER AGAIN." When I left my first WWOOFing placement in Ireland in 2011, the hallelujah chorus was ringing in my head.

But this was not a bad experience. This was anything but a bad experience (although I was nearly kicked by an irritable alpaca yesterday).  My 20 day volunteer gig in Bad Munster has been chock-full, jam-packed with gut-busting laughter, good food, good feelings.

So I'm not singing hallelujah. In fact, I'm looking at my baby blue mattress cover and resenting the two Canadian girls arriving this afternoon. The jerks. Their scones and pancakes had better not be as good as mine.

I haven't written much lately because I've been busy socializing with the dutch girl who arrived on Tuesday. I realize that this is a poor excuse (as most excuses tend to be) for neglecting my blog, but when you really enjoy someone who you know will be leaving in a few days, it feels unnatural to prioritize writing over hanging out.

"I'm sorry. I understand that you're leaving tomorrow and I may never see you again, but I really have to work on my blog."

Something about that sentence just sounds so wrong. Callous. Inhuman. Especially because I travel to meet people like the dutch girl. If I'm too busy curled up in the corner under my checkered duvet and glued to my laptop to listen to stories of a crazy girl's gallivanting about South Africa and volunteer work with cheetahs, something needs to change.

But like all things, I need to find a balance. My balance act in Bad Munster has been none too nimble, and I've dropped the blogging ball far too often. The unfortunate thing is that this next month will be so chaotic that I'm sure it'll be dropped several more times. And probably roll under a couch and be lost for ages.

Until I settle in Istanbul and have three months to learn to juggle again.

There has been so much laughter lately, and it's been hilarious to sit back and listen to the dutch girl making fun of Germany and my dear German host poking fun at Holland. As an American, it was a novel experience to observe country bashing, rather than be the butt of it.

My core has been sore every morning, and it's not just because I've developed an awesome yoga routine for abs.

While laughing, I have:

Carved pumpkins,

Apparently pumpkin carving is a distinctly American tradition, so whenever people commented on the creepy curcurbitas, my host would say, "well, she's American." Other items that aren't commonly found in Germany (that us Americans take for granted) include corn tortillas, popping corn (the real stuff that you make in a pan) limes, cilantro and black beans. I remember being so surprised when Billie said she had to go to a specialty shop for limes. Qua?

 Walked the dogs with Joe, Julia and Maude,

Treat? Treat? treat? treat? Grendle (the closest little dog with his tongue out) runs with such enthusiasm and mostly sideways. To the right.  I chuckle every time I see him.

 Eaten mouthwatering German food,

This is wild boar sausage. It didn't really make me laugh, I suppose -- but it made my soul very, very happy. One of my challenges was to see wild boar in Germany. I might just consider this challenge good and done. ;) sorry, Robert -- I know this is probably not how you wanted to see wild boar, but it's certainly how I wanted to taste it.

 Went apple picking at a mostly abandoned orchard,

There are so many different kinds of apples. Maude and I went walking here, and I would pick a mostly worm-free apple, take a bite, and toss it to the ground. This felt painfully wasteful, but no one was harvesting them and a bite of each variety granted me the stomach capacity to try them all. I blissfully offered a flawless crisp red apple to Maude, and she regretfully declined. Her orthodontist says she can't bite into apples. So I enjoyed them all myself and felt tremendously guilty whilst doing so.

 Drinking wine and telling stories with Billie and Maude until we all stumbled off to bed,

There was a night I stumbled off to bed a bit earlier than Maude, frantically gulped down half a bottle of water, and groggily crawled under the covers. When I woke up an hour later, bursting to use the loo, I realized I wasn't alone. Maude had drunkenly plopped into my bed and was contentedly spooning me. Oh... umm... that's... uh, strange. My fuzzy brain couldn't sort out what had happened, so I gingerly tiptoed down the stairs (clinging to the railing), thankfully relieved myself, and tripped back up the stairs. As I was too tired and confused to kick Maude out of my bed, I just lay down next to her. She spooned me again.

 Gone walking with alpacas,

This sweet little fellow is named "Gatsby". Maude loves him.

Meet Milo, my favorite alpaca. The camelids have to wear their halters so high up on their faces because if they're any further down, the poor animals have trouble breathing.

Billie is an alpaca trainer (a very good one) and gave us a few lessons on leading alpacas. In this picture, she's demonstrating to Maude just how hard you have to pull on a lead rope for the animal to feel pressure. It's not very hard.

This guy took forever. But I had so much fun with the teeth. My goodness. It's been validating for me to live with a family that encourages me to pursue all of these little hobbies I enjoy so much. There was a day I asked Billie if she had time to let me teach her yoga. She hesitatingly said, "well... only if you are able to cook dinner..." In my mind, this is equivalent to telling a child, "well... only if you eat the cake and the ice cream."

Julia and her adorable Grendle. It's rare to find people who laugh as easily and as heartily as Julia and Billie (at themselves, at others, and with others. All the kinds of laughter). Every time Julia walks into the house, it's like a breath of fresh air (in an already fresh house). She has such a positive, warm presence and is the kind of person who makes me want to just sit in a room with her.  Because she fills the room with such good things. I don't know how to explain it.

I love this dog. I want him with me everywhere I go.

I've been thinking about the nature of travel and questioning just how natural this lifestyle actually is -- evolutionarily speaking of course. We're wired to operate within communities, but we've also evolved as hunter/gatherers and wanderers. Up until 12,000 years ago, we lived lives of constant movement. We never grew up in the home in which we were born and raised our own families in that same home. We never stayed in one place for more than a season because herds came and went, crops ripened and spoiled.

But the people must have mostly stayed the same. We wandered within established communities, so even though our scenery was constantly changing, our company rarely did. The company that gave us a sense of belonging, connection, love.

I think most of us are conflicted -- torn between these two urges because we live in a world that no longer encourages both. You get to travel or you get a community, don't be so naive to think you can have your cake and eat it too.

Maybe I'll just join the circus. Those folks get to travel and keep community. 

Most of us are conflicted, but one side generally wins and we spend the rest of our time thinking and wishing that the other side would have won. When I interview people (who have wonderful families and homes), the most common response to "what is your biggest regret?" is "I wish I had traveled more." I met a millionaire jeweler in Morocco, and the man sipped his expensive cocktail and lounged in an obscenely comfortable chair in the courtyard of one of the nicest hotels in Marrakech and wrote down that his "Dream occupation" would be to "Live Aimee's life."

My conflict is the other sort, and it becomes most difficult to face and fight and WIN every time I leave a place like the alpaca farm in Bad Munster.

Maybe I could just... stay. Make friends that I get to keep. Have a circle. You know... settle down a bit. Grow roots.

But I have many circles. Many beautiful spaces to which I can travel to reconnect with a once loved, never forgotten community.

I have Baris and Patrick in Nice.

I have my dear English family in Buckinghamshire.

I have Kim and Jeremy in Wales (although I'll have to reconnect with Jeremy in Kenya).

I have Lochlann and Hanne in Ireland.

I have Svetlana in Denmark.

I have my friends and family in Colorado.

This is another juggling act. Balancing between these two basic urges in a healthy manner. So my life will be one of traveling to experience new places and returning to meet old friends.

Julia and Billie are friends to whom I will return.

Preconceptions: none today

Challenges: I'm totally counting that wild boar sausage. Sorry, Robert. ;)