It's Easy to Float -- Camp Full Monte, Montenegro

Not a lot of campers this time of year. A local appeared for "yoga week", but stayed for only a couple of nights. A silent, fully clothed Belgian fellow named Daan is here for tonight and two Americans are arriving later this evening.

It'll be fun to see where they're from and to hear about their journey. Boring people don't end up in places like this. People with stories end up in places like this.

Other than these few guests, the campsite has been quiet. Full of chirping birds, slithering snakes (and legless lizards), dragonflies attempting to lay eggs on the couches, and Giuseppe firing up the hand sander (I'm a carpenter's daughter and I don't know the exact name, for shame). 

Steve mows lawns, drinks tea, sets up tents, drinks tea, repairs random broken things, drinks tea --

Denise waters plants, prepares lunch, paints the house, drinks tea, weeds the garden, takes down tents, writes her blog, drinks tea --

Most of which is accomplished while being nude. I think Steve and Denise are much more experienced in the nude than I am (even with all of my modeling). They are unfazed by the creepy, crawly things, look comfortable handling power tools with their bits flapping about and don't always try to shove ipods into pockets that don't exist.

Work here is hard. I think I would be more bitter about the hours/jobs if Steve and Denise weren't such gorgeous people and if I didn't have so much respect for the way they live their lives.

Stripping and varnishing chairs.

 

 But Steve and Denise are gorgeous people, so I bite my lip, put on a smile (like for hitchhiking), and disregard the fact that most workaway hosts require 25 hours of work 5 days a week from their volunteers. I should have read the Full Monte profile more closely, as it very clearly states that work days begin around seven thirty am and end in the evening when the work is finished.

So it's my fault for not being more thorough. 

I'm always a little bit disappointed by manual labor projects. Being involved in activities like clearing forests and white washing walls and attacking weedy hills with something that looks mightily like a miniature pickaxe makes me question. 

What is more important to me? The ability to move freely or the opportunity to remain in a place wherein I can build a community? -- where I can establish a work environment that suits me and can always do what I love? My needs are so small that it's very reasonable to assume that I could make a living off of teaching yoga and cooking and thai massage. Is that what I want? 

I don't enjoy manual labor. I really, really don't. I'll do it and I'll do it cheerfully (although I might judge it later), but I would much rather be painting or cooking or teaching. 

I have skills. I want to use the skills that I have, dammit. I know that manual labor is just as meaningful as the rest of what I do... but somehow it just doesn't feel as fulfilling. And it's maddening to know that I could make a living teaching yoga if I could be content to stay in one place. ARGH. Conflict. 

Giuseppe builds a platform for Denise's massage table.

Will I be sad to leave this place? Absolutely yes and absolutely no. The work isn't my cup of tea, but the people and the place are fabulous.

And it would be nice to settle for a little bit longer... wouldn't it?

I've been moving around so much since I left Istanbul. Well... since I left Billie in Germany, actually. I was moving around every single day in Istanbul -- from Cesim's to Umit's to Dilara's to --? I was in one place on Vis, but the people and routine changed every week, so it felt unbelievable unstable.

Month to month travel has certainly become a thing of the past. What happened to my need for stability? What happened to my desire to become a part of a family? To have MY chair, MY spoon, MY favorite coffee cup that fits in my hands just so. To know the grocery store with the best prices and/or the most consistent supply of sweet potatoes and cheap cheese? To get invited to Druid moon ceremonies and weddings and all the other uniquely wonderful celebrations that you can tag along with when you immerse yourself in a family?

Maybe I'm still looking for that magic number. The just right amount of days to spend in a place before I inevitably (my super sensitive, insecure ego likes to tell me, anyway) become a bore and/or nuisance/burden to the people around me.

Is this why I don't settle? Is this the primary motivation behind my constant movement? Am I still traveling out of fear of alienating my community? Alienating myself from my community? 

From the heart (which equals blunt and cliche).

I love people.

I love people almost as much as I love a good French cheese,

As helping a student come into headstand for the first time,

Or flying them on my feet.  

I love so easily.

Sometimes I think I move simply because I'm not strong enough to see the ones I love so easily day after day after day. I don't have the courage to stay in one place and build a community. I am so adverse to conflict that I choose to just leave it.

Conflict with strangers is much less painful than conflict with loved ones.

It weighs less.

I understand that it's ephemeral.

My bag doesn't have enough space for conflict with lovers. My back is already bending under the weight of my enormous camera and sleeping bag (ENORMOUS sleeping bag). I can't possibly carry the pain from Colorado. There's no room for ghosts on the road.

Am I still running?

People tell me that I'm brave for moving the way I do. For traveling the world (Europe, as of now) alone. I can't help but think that they don't realize how brave they are for staying in one place.

It's easy to float.

I'm someone who just plants seeds. I don't have to stay around to cultivate the garden. To water. To weed. To chase off snails and grasshoppers.

But I also don't get to see the roses.