The last month has been pretty relaxing, and it has been great only having to
change location once. The two weeks at the Buddhist retreat were followed by a
couple of weeks in Paris, and I really enjoyed the opportunity to relax, unpack,
and not to have to worry about the logistics of traveling.
The center was located in a lush forest on a mountaintop in a rural setting,
complete with a shrine in a converted stone barn.
However, the retreat did not start on an auspicious note. The weather was far
from what I expected of southern France in July. It was cold and constantly
raining, and even indoors during the middle of the day I needed to wear every
layer of thermal underwear that I brought along with me. I was sleeping in my
own tent, and I regretted not following the instructions and seam sealing the
tent before the trip. There were several slight leaks in the tent which made it
tough to keep things dry.
In addition to the marginal weather, the teachings and meditation sessions were
very challenging. I hadn't realized how hard it was to sit cross-legged for so
long, I think I was the only one of the several hundred students that had not
studied Tibetan Buddhism beforehand. Everything seemed to be going over my head.
During the meditation sessions, it was extremely difficult to calm down the
thoughts that seemed to be constantly whirling around inside my mind.
Things had reached the point where I was even entertaining thoughts of leaving
the retreat a week early and heading up to Paris.
If all of the above wasn't enough, the fourth day was the extreme test of my
commitment. It was another very cold and rainy night, and I was a bit chilled as
I had lent some of my warm clothes to someone colder than I was. I also had a
bit of trouble sleeping as I was missing a comfortable pillow. The pile of
clothes I was using was quite hard and lumpy.
I was woken up from my restless sleep at 6ish by a gentle prod in the back. This
seemed somewhat surprising since I was sleeping alone in my tent, and even more
so given that I was sleeping on my back. I thought I must have been dreaming, so
I tried to go back to sleep. Seconds later, I was prodded again. The prodding
was strange as it really felt like a little finger gently poking me in the back
three times.
This time, I woke up a little more, thought about the situation, and decided
that there must be a small animal under the tent. However, when I looked under
my sleeping pad and felt the ground, there was nothing. I began to feel like I
was losing my mind, and figured I must simply have been dreaming.
As I was about to lie down again and try to go back to sleep, I noticed one of
my bags bobbing up and down several inches. It was definitely not my
imagination! Something was under the tent.
When I got up and looked around outside the tent, I could see several spots
where there were burrows with piles of dirt around them. So, it must have been a
mole. The prodding didn't bother me that much, although I had visions of
returning that evening to find a hole in the bottom of my tent and a little mole
curled up in my sleeping bag. I was later informed that moles are quite common
around here and that they generally leave anything above ground alone. The mole
was simply clearing out his tunnels and probably a little annoyed at this large
contraption sitting on top of him.
Due to the restless sleeps, the cold weather, and the early wake up call, I
realized that I was coming down with a cold. I made my way up to breakfast, and
then attended the morning teaching and meditation sessions. During meditation,
we were told to follow our breath and feel it dissolve into nothingness. This
was especially easy as the cold weather allowed us to not just feel but to
actually watch the breath dissolve. The wind howled all morning with amazing
force, which was followed by torrential downpours and an evening thick fog that
chilled you to the bone. It was all beginning to wear on me. During my rota task
(washing very big and heavy pots), we were short staffed because one person quit
saying it was too difficult. As a result, we worked overtime right up until the
study group. By the time we finished, my hands were cramping up. During the
study groups, our leader asked how everyone was feeling and I was surprised to
hear my usually cheery self blurt out that the weather was getting me down.
As if everything else wasn't enough, I had another surprise waiting for me back
at my tent that evening. During all the howling winds and pouring rain, I had
left my tent wide open! I am amazed that I could have possibly done something so
stupid, but I guess the excitement of trying to solve the mole mystery made me
miss the obvious.
At that point, I became determined to see the good in it all. There was a lot of
water in the tent, but most of my possessions were in sealed bags and stayed
dry. My sleeping bag was a little wet, but still dry enough to keep me warm for
the evening. Things weren't all that bad! I sponged the water out of my tent,
and I had a great night sleep.
I woke up the next morning to bright sunny weather, and that combined with a hot
shower did wonders to lift my spirits. At the same point, the teachings started
to make more sense, as I was beginning to get used to the teacher's unorthodoxed
lecturing style. The meditation also became easier, and I started to form
friendships with the highly international study group that I was in (Italian,
Dutch, German, Norse, American, Columbian, Spanish-Argentinean, Australian, and
Israeli).
From that point on, the weather remained good, and I had a really rewarding and
enjoyable experience. One that I will definitely never forget!
At the end of the two weeks, I took a shuttle out of the mountains to
Montpellier where I hopped on the TGV and rocketed on to Paris. There, I met up
with Rob (the friend that I had gone sailing with earlier), and I stayed at the
apartment he had been renting.
The location of the apartment was ideal as it was situated right in the heart of
Paris in a large pedestrian zone. The Centre Pompideau was only three blocks
away, and it wasn't much further to get to Notre Dame.
Paris began with some fun festivities as I got there just in time for Bastille
Day, which was capped by a fireworks display over the Eiffel Tower.
The rest of my time was spent at a very slow pace, enjoying the lively
atmosphere and great bakeries, and taking in the occasional sight. One of the
more unusual sights that I visited was a place called the Catacombes.
During the 18th century, Parisians began to bemoan the large areas of valuable
real estate that was being taken up by ancient cemeteries. Since no one
remembered most of the people buried in them, it was decided to dig up the
graves and place all of the remains in some old abandoned tunnels under the
streets that were once limestone quarries.
The subterranean tour begins with a claustrophobic spiral staircase that
descended 20 meters below street level into 1.7 km of cold, dripping caves.
After walking for a half km or so, Rob and I entered the eerily silent
catacombes. The combination of the cold and damp air felt almost oppressive.
Many of the side passageways were poorly lit, and it was easy to let the
imagination run wild. On either side of the passageway were huge piles of bones
that went off into the darkness. The bones right next to the passageway seemed
to be leg bones that were stacked in such a way that they almost looked like an
uneven stone fence. Interspersed with all of the leg bones were skulls, arranged
in a morbidly artistic manner. There were skulls in the shape of a heart, skulls
in the shape of a cross, skulls with crossed bones underneath them, and skulls
simply arranged in random patterns. My mind brought back images of Raiders of
the Lost Ark, and I kept expecting snakes to come crawling through the eye
sockets, or poison darts to shoot out from the walls. The 5-6 million people
that are buried here seemed to go on forever. It was fascinating, although at
the same time it gave me the creeps, as the skulls seemed to be leering out at
us as we walked down the passageways. As drips would fall from the wet ceiling,
I would wipe them off immediately, and I shuddered every time I accidentally
bumped into a pile of bones. As we had our packs checked for bones while exiting
the tunnel, it felt good to emerge into the warmth and brightness of sunlight.
As luck would have it, the end of my stay in Paris coincided with another
national event. This time, it was the final stage of the Tour de France. Rob and
I headed down to the Champs Elysee, where crowds of people were already
gathering in anticipation of the final ten laps that would be taking place four
hours later. I had been following the Tour de France on television, and it was
surprising to watch riders, hands on hip, carry on casual conversations and
munch on baguettes with seeming indifference to the world class sporting event
they were competing in. This was in stark contrast to what I was witness to, as
the looks of determination and pain on the riders faces underscored the intense
competition during the final laps of the race. The French passion for cycling
was obvious in the energy of the crowd as they cheered the riders on during
their victory lap.
For a change of pace, I'm now sitting on a plane right that is destined for
Calgary, Alberta. I will be flying back to my home turf for two weeks to attend
a good friend's wedding, be reunited with Zen, and to visit with family and
friends.
