Tip From Across The Sea # 1

France (and Europe in general) has a lot of good ideas, most of which don't seem to reach home until after-the-fact. This is fine, but throughout my time I'm keeping a mental list of trends that my fellow readers can choose to adopt if they want to get ahead. Well, starting today, I am going to make an actual list here on the blog.

I'm not saying Europe is better than North America by any means, so don't feel like this is an insult to the States and the many cultures she holds. The things I'm observing are small day-to-day things that I see as having a positive effect on the environment and people's overall quality of life. Today, for example, it's grocery bags. France has been doing policy work to reduce the waste created by plastic bags at grocery stores. In the majority of markets, there are no plastic bags to be handed out. You bring your own, and if you forget, you buy a new reusable bag. Apparently this year the legislation is heating up, and there are proposals to completely ban all plastic bags at grocery stores and convenience stores--forcing consumers to remember their reusable, biodegradable bags from home. Here's an article about it http://www.connexionfrance.com/plastic-shopping-bags-ban-supermarkets-hypermarkets-recycling-2011-11500-view-article.html. I know loads of people back home that live "the European way" in a lot of aspects, this one in particular. But for the most part, people are still taking an innumerable amount of plastic bags every week (month, year, lifetime) when they frequent their local market of choice, namely because it is an option, and a convenient one at that. My second or third time getting groceries here, I forgot my bag. I didn't want to fork out any money to buy one, so I crammed my groceries into my purse, carried some under my arms, and even resorted to having Lilia hold a bushel of bananas! It was very difficult, irritating, and teaching. I haven't forgotten a bag since then. Lesson learned.

So,

Tip From Across The Sea # 1 : buy (or make!) several reusable grocery bags, and find a way to help yourself remember them anytime you take a shopping excursion!

Today I woke up early (06:15) to the sound of rain. Paris sees a lot of rain in the spring, but most days start sunny and the rain shows up around 16h (4pm). Sometimes I like the rain, sometimes it drives me nuts (like when I am wearing my boots that soak up water), but I always love waking up to rain. So today was a treat :)

Every Thursday morning Lilia and I get groceries for the weekend. Our outing starts with us getting bundled up, especially when it's raining. We then make our way down the three flights of stairs into the entry way, which is a pretty exciting feat when you're a 21-month-old discovering your body's full-capacity. Lately I've been avoiding the pram because Lilia is very able to walk a good distance now, all the while curiously exploring the many intricacies of the city and it's sidewalks that most commuters would never notice.

With the rain today though, I loaded her into the pram, secured the grocery bag (yay!) and my purse around the handles, shielded her from the rain with a plastic covering, got out my umbrella and headed out. Our first stop is always Lidl. This German discount supermarket chain has most of the items we need; we buy all organic, natural and fresh foods, and at extremely low prices. It's phenomenal. As long as we go at a good time, it's not too crowded and cues aren't unbearable. I select whatever given vegetable or cheese I'm checking off the list, hand it to Lilia, and she sets it in our bag. It's a good system, though not entirely efficient. BUT, we have loads of fun, and she attracts a lot of "ooh la-la's" the whole time.

Next we head for La Vie Claire, the co-op nearest to Claire and Jono's apartment. Co-ops are really common here; there are 3 or 4 within a few blocks of my apartment alone! Here we get some grains and soy-milk, neither of which Lidl carries. Again, Lilia helps my carry the items around the store and tries her best to hand them to the cashier. She's such a helper!

I don't know how interesting grocery shopping is, but I realized I haven't done much writing involving practical living here in Paris. Happy Thursday everyone.

Old, Dirty Sweatpants.

Missing people is weird.

I don't have much to philosophize about at the moment; things are flowing just as they should. I continue to feel the rhythm of this city, send out a daily intention to further sync myself with it, all the while keeping my heart and eyes open. I meet people that challenge me, and force me to go to my depths. Adversely, I meet people that feel like a deep, much-needed breath, where I can just rest.

I'm not dancing, religiously (now, dance isn't my religion, but it is a practice, necessary for me). I still find time to move my body and feel the beats of daily life, but I'm not adequately taking care of this need. Hopefully we'll see this shift in a post in the near future...

I had a birthday here last week, that was cool. I set some good intentions, had a nice time thinking over the past year, and overall feel really good about saying adieu to my teens. It's a milestone, really, moving past the teen years. Well, you can make it one. I did. I made some conscious decisions to let go of some traits that I no longer feel are appropriate. I guess we call this growing up? I sound pretty monotone in this writing, but worry not. I'm alive. And much more mature ;)

Anyway, missing people. Strange. For me, life has been one chapter after another--a series, if you will--of missing people. As of late, I find myself in a new spot on the planet, missing people from my former spot. But in the new spot, I unconsciously build new relationships, and when I predictably leave this spot for the next new one, the cycle starts again. I don't know if it's me being unsatisfied, or if it's just normal, but I have done poorly at being present. On that note, for the first time I'm seeing a part of myself that is timid in my social-behavior; I'm being relatively slow to get close to people. My last session of goodbyes was painful, and it's following me around. I wear those goodbyes like my favorite pair of sweatpants; so comfortable in them, I don't want to take them off.

In the case of my sweatpants, I should really throw them out. Let go of them for good.

With my goodbyes? Not so true. When it comes to people, you have to find the middle. The place where you honor memory, let it exist, but you don't live in it.

Alas, the sun shines brightly here. I have been blessed and taken in by an amazing family that I love. I am constantly meeting new people, that challenge and comfort, and I don't have to forget the old. All is well.

BUUUTTT, missing people is still weird. There are some people you miss, even when you're with them. That's the worst. Word of advice? Count your losses and move along. If you miss a person when you're with them, that's a sign from the Divine that they are UNAVAILABLE, and are not about to be.

Then there are those whom you wouldn't expect to miss...but then the minute they're no longer within arm's reach, everything feels wrong. The longing is painful, but realizing the intensity of your heart's ability to love is startling and comforting. It's bittersweet.

"Your beloved and your friends were once strangers. Somehow at a particular time, they came from the distance toward your life. Their arrival seemed so accidental and contingent. Now your life is unimaginable without them. Similarly, your identity and vision are composed of a certain constellation of ideas and feelings that surfaced from the depths of the distance within you. To lose these now would be to lose yourself."

— John O'Donohue (Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom)

Miss Lady and I.

We start out cool...

...stay relatively normal...

..act like weirdos...

...giggle...

...settle down...

...with a cuddle...

...and we're back to being awesome.

So grateful for all the time I get to spend with this little bundle of Light. She teaches me more than anyone knows.

Lesson 2: How To Get Lost In Style

Every time I leave my neighborhood of Belleville here in Paris, I get lost.

No exceptions.

It is always the same. Take, for example, my quest for Shakespeare and Co last week. First, I should give a little background on this temple of awesomeness. The independent bookstore, located in the 5th Arrondissment/Left-Bank/Latin-Quarter, has quite the detailed history, both classic and romantic. Founded by an American expatriate in the beginning of the 20th century, it was a place of inspiration for both the "Lost Generation" and the "Beat Generation", and was once stated to be "a socialist utopia masquerading as a bookstore." It's aim now is basically to maintain the culture that is so specific to the Left Bank, and to act as a home-away-from-home for thousands of artists from all over the globe. Filled with bunks for passing writer/artists to crash on, Shakespeare and Co. is the backpacking, starving artist's dream. It draws me in, in part simply because it's comforting to be in an English environment; it truly does feel like a home-away-from-home to hear other English speakers, making jokes that make sense, using slang that I can understand, etc. This little haven also appeals to me because of the beautiful piano tucked away upstairs that calls my name from all the way across this city.

Anyway, back to me and my wandering.

I generally look at my destination on a map before I leave my flat, get a vague idea of where I'm headed, and proceed to not write down directions or even the address of where I'm going (always my biggest regret, "what street was it on again?"). Once I walk up the stairs from the metro and surface on the rue, I'm always surprised to find that I have no real clue as to what direction to go.

Aside from when I first set out on my adventures, I try to not even look at a map. Pride issue--I don't want to seem like a stupid tourist, even though I am.

I tend to walk in circles, though unlike most people, I find this to be productive. Gradually, I start to recognize cheap crêpe-stands and street-vendors that sell seemingly pointless knickknacks and that neat little crack in those stairs over there and those hobos that seem sort of happy...It's only natural that I would recognize these landmarks, considering after roughly an hour of strolling along I will have walked by each spot anywhere from 3-6 times.

**This would be a good time to mention I had been to this bookstore before with my brother Barnabas. That made my trek even more interesting, as I was recognizing things my brain had processed years before! I really did have a "déjà-vu" experience, when I found myself drawn to the same corner cafe that I had bought an overpriced sandwich at almost exactly three years ago. It was really strange to stand in the same spot on the sidewalk, feeling like a totally different woman...in a good way.**

Oh, also, on this particular day it had started raining, and I of course was unprepared and without any kind of protection. Side note :)

Resuming....

After a good hour and a half of walking in a purposeful zig-zag fashion, I found a trail that I felt right about, and BOOM!, stood in front of the most beautiful site I had ever found, simply gazing in awe...ok, not entirely true. I wish I could say it was that grandiose when I finally reached my destination, but it wasn't. I wasn't even thinking about the depth of my voyage, how I got there and the symbology (yes, it's a word) of my choices. Nope. In real-life, I frantically pushed my way through some people jabbering in German (blocking the door, I might add) because I was SO cold and ready to get in and maybe find that book I was looking for...

Most people reading this probably think I really am an ass, considering the entire route itself is 20minutes total, not two hours. BUT, in recognizing and registering the arbitrary things that I passed by numerous times that afternoon, I began to familiarize myself with that specific set of streets, which enlarged my understanding of that specific arrondissement,

which has thusly brought me one small step (or one "afternoon's worth of walking") closer to understanding this enormous and mysterious city.

**************************************************************

Now during afternoons like the aforementioned, I think about what it would be like to start writing down bloody directions; to somehow start mapping out my plans. I could get a lot more done, appear more productive on paper--and, to use a cliche, "keep my eyes on the prize."

I'm sure anyone who knows me can see where I'm going with this.

In speaking to something larger than simply my quirks in exploring a city, in my own way of doing life,

I don't tend to make big plans,

or map out where I'm going,

or follow a set of directions.

Sometimes I listen to what others tell me. Sometimes I trust my instincts. Sometimes I use reason...

each situation is different from the next.

The one thing I rarely do, however, is to follow a way of life that keeps me so narrowly focused on one destination that I don't notice the guy who works at the cafe on the corner from open until close, or the Chinese prostitutes that are out on the street every hour of every day that I walk down the hill to get Lilia, or the homeless man that had his entire life on that sidewalk before they ordered him to move, or the lady that gives me a discount on my baguette every morning, or the sidewalk that I stood on three years ago, having no idea what life was yet to come. What is the purpose of getting to all the "places" I'm looking for, if I miss all that I pass by?

Even though I don't know what city I'm going to be living in six months from now, what job I'll have, what school I'll study at, or what people I will sip my morning coffee with, I choose not to lose sight of the LIFE that is going on around me constantly. I choose to say "yes" to really seeing people everyday, and to truly loving what I get to see. Even if that means I get to the bookstore a little late.

(This ^^ is the cafe I had re-found. Recognize it Barnabas?)

This is Shakespeare and Co.

(photo by Jake Heinitz)

Mornings ♥

Sucking our thumbs...or rather, sucking each others' thumbs.

Giggly girls

She's pretty amazed how weird I am...

Also wanted to share some videos that capture Lilia's full-personality :)

Cher-Cher Lilia, Sacré-Cœur, Montmartre, Moulin Rouge, Café des Deux Moulins (Amelie's Cafe)

Not much to write tonight folks. Loads going on here--physically, emotionally, spiritually. Just wanted to share some photos with you. Had a nice couple of days exploring with Lilia and Claire this week :)

Moulin Rouge (clearly)

This is Café des Deux Moulins, the cafe Amelie worked at.

A random street in Montmartre, with some random lovers highlighted :)

Lilia and I at Sacré-Cœur together

Claire and Lilia on the rue of street art

This street for the street artists is just a couple blocks down from my apartment.

This is Lilia, the cher cher I get to spend time with :)

Doesn't she just have the best smile?

She is already such a dancer too!

C'est tout. Bonne nuit.

67 Rue de Belleville; Beaucoup de Langues

(That's ^ my address for now. If you would write me, which I would love, be sure to send to "JEM Paris (attn: Hannah Birkeland)" as my name is not on the post box. Also the zip is 75019. So here's the spot, in its entirety:

JEM Paris (Attn: Hannah Birkeland)

67 Rue de Belleville

Paris, France

75019

Right now as I write this, my roommate Marthe is running around our room on the phone with her mother, laughing and shouting in Dutch, her native tongue. In the hallway, Kindra (another flatmate) and Richard (our visitor of the week) are joking in Spanish, as the former is from Spain and the latter is from Venezuela. Ida is in the kitchen, and though she is quiet tonight, she is often heard speaking her native tongue of Norwegian, as she hails from Norway.

(my room)

Can you believe how rich this environment is? I am surrounded so intimately by such different cultures...we all have so much to learn from each other. Around Belleville (my "village" so-to-speak here in Paris) I have been doing my best to keep up with the French. Due to the beautiful and illuminating diversity I am surrounded by in my flat, I don't hear a lot of French when I'm sitting at home (which does not happen frequently). This has definitely saved me from that immediate head-ache that I find always accompanies one's first bit of time in a foreign country, where the native tongue is not one's own. But that being said, improving my French is a significant intention of mine whilst here, so I sort of wish for the head-ache. Lucky for me, Claire (I'll introduce her in the following paragraph) is from Paris, so she speaks perfectly clear and articulate French, and I have asked her to speak to me in French as much as she can remember when we are together. Already in our two days of time together she has taught me more than she knows.(the view from my bedroom window)

I am here for loads of reasons, all of which are derived from the fact that I simply am (there's that abstract brain-vomit...*refer to post #1). My primary duty right now is to take care of Lilia, the 19-month-old daughter of Jono and Claire Bevan, the couple that are in charge of Kiwizine (the community-operated restaurant/art-gallery that brought me here). This will be my main responsibility for the next three months, at which point the Bevans will be moving to Vietnam and my duties will clearly change. Thus, my secondary duty for the time being is to be trained by Claire, to replace Claire for the period in which she is not here. I am excited about this, as Kiwizine is just fabulous and I absolutely feel at home being a part of it. But there are definitely nerves associated with this as well, considering I will be the main person serving and dealing with our customer's questions (about the food, the cafe, our group, etc.)...all of whom only speak French. Oh la la!

Jono is Claire's husband, and he has already become a dear friend to me. From New Zealand, he has come from a whole other culture, but gets on here in Paris quite naturally. Jono is an excellent chef, and is the leader of all the goings-on of JEM Paris. At this point I am not quite sure who will step up for his role when they depart...

I do not have much else to report about the experience so far. I have been here only three and a half days, so there is a whole lot more to come.

As far as my psycho-spiritual analysis of the situation and my new life here, well of course there has been a lot of that ;)

Immediately upon my arrival I was struck by a feeling of lonesomeness that definitely surprised me. Not because I think I'm above feeling lonely, for I have definitely spent my fair share of time in solitude, but simply because I have never experienced the emotions that would naturally accompany a move such as I just made. It was a pretty intense consciousness to be made aware of that huge 4,000 mile gap, which separates me from everyone who knows me. A couple nights ago I couldnot sleep, and after the standard methods of attempting it (counting sheep/counting blessings, reading a book, writing a journal entry, mindlessly surfing Facebook, chatting with loved ones), I found myself still wide awake at 4:30am. My last resort (I don't know why I always wait last minute to do what I know will work) was to do my dance practice. I did an hour-long dance, in the dark, in my apartment, with the windows open, watching people walk through the street (NO idea what they were all doing out at 4:30...maybe same as me?) and started to feel better. Grounding myself is near impossible (in my life, so of course in my dance), but as there are four other people living in this apartment, and these floor boards creak like they're doing a dance on their own, I was literally FORCED to keep my feet in one spot, whilst my upper body did its natural chaos dance. If anyone could have seen it, it must have been entertaining to say the least, but therapeutic for me.

Through the embodiment and sequencing that occurs whenever I enter into the dance, I was able to come back to myself, and remember that really, I am home.

This temple is my home, and that memory is the greatest comfort my Creator has given me.

Things are always a stitch difficult for a while, in every new place I find myself.

Before long, I adjust.

I fall in love easily.

Then the time comes to return "home", and though I'm usually ready, I always know I'll miss this most recent place and way of life intensely.

It has become clear that no matter what I do or where I go, I will be more than taken care of; more than satisfied.

(view from the park across my street)

(l'entree of my first night at the restaurant)

(I got to snip and gut all these little guys)

(and the finished product !)

(this is the kitchen of Kiwizine)

(this is Kiwizine)