Waheguru! -- Devon, England

Waheguru is a term from Sikhism meaning "wonderful teacher". It's what everyone around here says whenever something pleasant happens. Arms are thrown into the air and "Waheguru!" is exclaimed. It's the American version of "that's AWESOME!" 

 I'm starting this post from one of the two beanbag chairs in the living room area of my B&B home. The large windows behind me are spattered with rain and dotted with yoga posters, but the grey light that filters in is more than enough to write by. A large cup of raspberry lemon tea sits to my right (a cup that contained steaming Green and Black hot chocolate a few minutes ago) and the house is peaceful and quiet.

I haven't heard a honking horn in three days now. C'est incroyable.

Yesterday was bizarre and beautiful and delicious. I woke up at seven o'clock (I'm trying to give myself more sleep at this placement) and wrote a few words. Then I grabbed my sweater, popped in my contacts and went upstairs to the "yoga sanctuary" to lead the American volunteer in a 60 minute yoga vinyasa routine.

It felt incroyable to be able to teach again. To lead someone through a flow that I knew would leave them energized and refreshed. It was also encouraging how quickly I fell back into my comfortable style of teaching.

My body has memorized yoga the way my mind memorized Shakespeare in university. The rhythm of the movement (like the rhythm of iambic pentameter) has helped the postures to sink in and to sink in deep. I feel like I was born moving like this. Speaking like this. 

Kayla smiled the brilliant "my body feels fantastically exhausted and beautifully stretchy" smile and gave me some enthusiastic feedback about my approach to yoga.

I don't care what else happens today. My day is made. Made, I tell you. If I can help one person feel good in their body, it's more than enough for me.

But the rest of Thursday just got better. Harriet asked Rosie to make a batch of celery, wheatgrass, cucumber juice and sent Kayla and me on an errand to the local shop to purchase some fresh ginger. We chatted and shivered on the way down the High Street and I learned that Kayla used to be into finance and left everything behind to travel with her partner.

And absolutely loves the new life she's found.

Nary a root of ginger was to be found at either shop, so we shivered our way back to the B&B with empty hands. Rosie was still stalwartly stuffing stinky celery down Harriet's Green Machine, so I offered to take a turn as she finished washing the persistent, resistant slugs out of the remainder of the organic celery leaves.

This. This is what makes me think of home, I grinned as I picked a sneaky black slug from behind a mottled leaf and shoved the stalk into the grinding gears. I wonder how many of those guys have found their way into my juice. 

Harriet asked if I'd vacuum and dust the living room and be in charge of lunch.

"YES. I WILL COOK. I WILL COOK WHATEVER YOU LIKE WHENEVER YOU LIKE ALL THE TIME."

Maybe I overreacted a little bit.

"Okay, well why don't you make some slaw and do something with these potatoes?"

"And do you have sweet potatoes?"

"mmm..."

"Because I could make a really nice sweet potato dessert that my mom does."

"Mmm?"

 "Yeah, you chop them up into small pieces and mix them with raisins --"

"Mmm!"

 "--and walnuts and apples --

"Mmm!"

"-- and cinnamon and honey. It's a great comfort food."

"Mmm. Yes, I can just feel all the good energy! Yes, yes, you must make that. Sounds absolutely delicious, mmmm."

"Also..." I faltered, not wanting to ruin my luck but wanting to make sure I communicated well enough to set myself up for a good experience. "I'm someone who works best when I have a few set jobs every day. Like always cooking in the morning. Or always cleaning the sitting room in the afternoon. If I could have a few jobs that stay the same, that would make me really happy and I would be most efficient."

"Thanks for telling me that, Aimee. You know, since cooking seems to make you so happy, why don't you stick with that?"

So that is what I will be doing for my month at this B&B in Devon. Cooking vegetarian meals and  teaching the occasional yoga class. In return, I will be able to take classes in Kundalini yoga, meditation, some sort of yogic dance, have the coast of Devon at my disposal, and learn all about extra-terrestrial communication from Mars and Venus and how Jesus somehow fits into that equation.

I call it a good exchange. 

My new home. Yes please.

Halfway through my slaw, a surprise visitor turned up. A helpxer who had been missing for two weeks finally arrived on Harriet's front door in the middle of her "coffee morning". I won't go into too many details here, but the police showed up shortly afterwards (Harriet asked if they'd come for her coffee morning activity) and did some friendly interrogation over cups of black tea. As they do in England. Apparently the missing helpxer had recently been in some sort of mental institution and had, umm... ended his visit a bit prematurely.

After the police finished their tea, Harriet introduced me to Michael -- a lanky, easy-going looking bloke from South Africa who'd been to just about everywhere.

I don't care what's going on with this fellow or what the police were discussing over tea. He seems 100% pleasant and perfectly sane.

"Michael, this is Aimee," Harriet gestured to me. "She's making us lunch."

"Nice to meet you," I shook his large hand.

"Good to meet you too, yeah," his voice was breathy soft and sounded extremely out of place coming some such a large individual.

"Aimee's making us lunch," Harriet reiterated. "I'm sure she could use a lot of help, couldn't you, Aimee?"

"Sure. Want to cut the apples for me?" I nodded at a bowl of bruised, half-rotten, organic apples out of which I'd laboriously removed all the nasty bits.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

So I chatted with Michael as I finished cooking the slaw, baked potato wedges, baked cauliflower and sweet potato dessert. He was born in South Africa but had moved to the UK with his family when he was fourteen. He spent his early adulthood in England and had gone to university to pursue medicine and sports education, but never finished his degree because he decided halfway through that western medicine was largely a load of bollocks and went off to volunteer growing squash in South America.

These are my people. Squash growing rebels of the world, unite. 

Harriet's ex-husband turned up early afternoon and puttered around for a few hours, tinkering with plumbing and electricity and talking to me about how all Americans should be armed against alien invasion. Or the government. I can't remember which.

"Well," I interjected as tactfully as I could, "I think that gun control in America could be a little more strict. People can just sell their used guns on the local newspaper these days. Anyone can get their hands on assault rifles or pistols and I don't think that's particularly healthy for a society."

He said something else about aliens and conspiracies and how all shootings in America are staged by the government to strike fear into the hearts of the public and to take away their rights, and then puttered on to tend to the garden. I wish I could remember the exact conversation, but I was so startled at the fact that a European was advocating gun ownership, that I mostly just stood there with my mouth hanging open in a completely dumbfounded manner.

What do I... God. What do I even say to that? 

I'm really trying to keep an open mind here, but am finding it challenging to be completely open to ideas I'd never even considered plausible before.

Aliens. Yeah. I could be open to aliens. Jesus from Mars. Errr... why not?

Yes. Reading "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" was perfect preparation for this place.

I attended an hour long meditation class with Harriet that evening directly followed by an hour and a half Sivananda yoga class with a local teacher.

Three yoga classes in two days. Two chances to cook. Four hours of writing and one beautiful walk along the coast. This is the life. This is what makes me feel alive. This is what brings out the good in me. 

I ate hidden, forbidden chocolate with my roommates and fell asleep to the very mature sounds of pillow fights and giggles.

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.