In a quandary

 It has been longer than I anticipated since I wrote in this blog -- almost ten days -- which is not to say that nothing has been happening. I have been immersed in France for the first time, surrounded by remarkable beauty and moving historical sites, eating amazing food, walking more than I am used to, and, I confess, becoming overwhelmed by the experience.

Writing of this sort often becomes confessional. I am not only overwhelmed but on edge as well. Up until now, I have been insulated from having to negotiate a different culture and language. England, I can handle very well, and Ryan and Ryan took very good care of me in Athens. France is different, though.

I spent a fair amount of time relearning French before I left home, but I discover daily that my efforts were insufficient. In Lyon, France's third largest city, I would begin to speak French when I entered a restaurant or store, but was soon rescued by some nice person who would continue our conversation in English. In Nantes, the sixth largest, this was less often the case, but a linguistic collaboration between native and visitor usually saved the day. Today in Vannes, 115th on the population ranking list, I am often adrift on a sea of two-way incomprehension. Add to that my deplorable sense of direction and inability to read a map, and you find me watching men race model boats on a pond, Etang du Duc, instead of touring my intended destination, the Archaeological Museum. (Note: Happily, I discovered that this small body of water was once the site of a quarry whose stones were used for the construction of the earlier Gallo-Roman city, back when Vannes was called Dariorithum, so my need to pore over the past was partially fulfilled.)

Vannes is precisely the kind of town I've been looking for in the quest to re-settle. It's conveniently located on a railway line, full of quaint houses and historical sites, flat enough to give it a great old-lady walkability score, relaxed, and packed both with amenities and opportunities to explore nature. The people are nice, though much more reserved than in Lyon or Nantes. If I ask a question, they answer kindly--but in fast French, which leaves me tearing along behind in hopes of understanding something. The problem is that I only have one more day to explore here before I head to Paris and my flight home via Nova Scotia. I like what I see, but it's not enough...I will have to come back.

And here's the rub--and possibly what's really making me uneasy: returning to Portland will mean a reassessment of what I left behind in the U.S. There's no avoiding it. Will it be as bad as I recall? How will the uncertainties of each potential life weigh up against each other? Will it be fight or flight? Home or abroad? I thought I knew, and yet...

I've been watching with deep admiration Bernie Sanders' and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez' Oligarchy Tour. I want to be like them, but I am not like them. At least, I don't think I am. I have been searching for a new home, but I find I am also searching for my soul and the possibilities that lie therein.