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Zack! Have a great trip -- Bring your scuba gear, cheri amour, you never know!

As I was waiting in Toulon to take my train, I sat in a cafe for close to 3 hours killing time. I kept sneaking up to the bathroom to steal toilet paper for tissues. The third time I finished upstairs, the cafe was pretty empty, and the guys working there in white suits and ties were singing loud French songs. I walked down the stairs and heard they had started a new one: "Starrr spreddeh zeh nooooose... I leeeeeaviiiing tudday....." Oh! My soul jumped in its skin and I don't know what came over me. I was at the top of the stairs, and by the time I got to the middle of the beautifully banistered staircase, I broke into song, my arms wide out: "I want to BEEEE a PARRRRT of it! NEW YORK, NEW YORRRRRRRRRRK!" The men behind the counter polishing glasses were dumbfounded, smiling. Bravo, they clapped, a lovely voice. I am sure they were equally impressed with my perfect Midwestern American diction.

My Last Night

I spent most of yesterday finger painting with the kids. Only with brushes. So...regular painting. No one understood my abstract art.

Then we played a French card game about driving or something. I won.

So then, the kids just up and left with their mom and went to Marseille. They have a lot of time off for All Saints week and won't be back before I leave. Very sad. Antonia pulled me aside and handed me all of her marbles. She told me that it would be my responsibility to give one to every WOOFer who leaves the house when she is gone.

Last night we went to the closest town and drank at the pub. For the first time in my life, I was able to drink all of the beer in a single bar. The four of us drank maybe four beers each and the place ran out! Ridic. So then a car pulls around the corner and it's Felipe (wearing a green trench coat and smoking his pipe, he looked like some latino detective on, like, CSI Columbia or something) with Jean-Mathieu and two new WOOFers, Cyrus and Rebecca. I got up to greet them, but Cyrus ran across the road and began violently throwing up from car sickness. See Julie, if you stayed you would have found a kindered spirit.

Today I took Cyrus and Rebecca for a tour of Lutina. We checked out the pigs and the drying house and saw a crew of guys sorting their chestnuts through a machine. They brought in 2400 kilograms of chestnuts today. When I told one of the guys that we were American, he asked me (please pardon my likely incorrect spelling) est cé Obama vè gagne? Will Obama win? I said absolutely he will, and the man cheered for Obama as we walked away.

This may be my last post from Corsica. I could use a thousand clichès to sum up my time here. I could talk about the 'breath-taking' 'rolling hills' and the overwhelming mountain and ocean views that render one 'speechless.' These things exist and are likely how these types of clichès get started, but the real beauty of this place is in the simplest things: afternoon clouds rolling into the valley and the ensuing fog, the taste of fresh figs and roasted chestnuts and the stillness--the space that finds its way into the gaps between your thoughts, should you choose to let it in. An interruption of incessant mental clatter. In a word: peace.

Until I return: bonna serra, Corsica.

I was seriously worried, you guys.

Well, dear readers, I have another Of-Corsica moment for you. I was sleeping on the ferry to Toulon at four in the morning on a long couch in the lounge when the loud turning of the motor slowed, stopped. Are we here already? Mmm, ten hours on a boat sure went by quickly--gasp. It was still dark outside, no lights on shore in sight. We were in the middle of the sea. The lights in the lounge dimmed and the boat (again, another giant cruise ship) rocked. Violently. The curtains swayed as the waves outside, untethered by the motor pushing the boat, crashed one side of the Titantic, then the other. I felt nauseous and said a Hail Mary. Seriously, people. I was 89% ready to call Zack and tell him to call the proverbial embassy to make the funeral arrangments.

Savin' a Little Lovin' for Tomorrow

Zack and I ended up in Bastia, a port town, spending the night with a Corsican administrator, named Michele, whose apaprtment is neslted near the ruins of a catheral-turned-apaprtment building. Laundry on lines was strung everywhere and pipes ran together on the outside of the buildings of exposed brick and old stone. We rushed the next morning to my boat, which was cancelled (surprising? not quite), and spent the day wandering. We stood on the main round-about by the sea as traffic passed us in all directions. After a particular period of egregious romantic affection, an old man, slow and knowing, canes himself past us and says, "On en laisse un peu pour demain alors?!" (You gonna save some of that (meat/lovin') for tomorrow or what?) He walked on, cane tapping, smiling and apparently so pleased with young love.

Why have a dog when you do all your own WOOFing?

My other titles: 'Too many WOOFchefs in the WOOFkitchen' and 'Too many WOOFs and not enough Corsicans' just weren't that catchy.

Yesterday was great. Felipe and Jean-Mathieu let me catch a couple of the pigs that needed to be mooved into the nurseries. This entailed creeping up behind the pig, grabbing her front leg and quickly tying a rope around the leg. Needless to say (though I'll say it anyway because I am verbose) there is a lot of thrashing involved. In the struggle, one fell down, taking me with her, and we were both covered in shit pudding.

Today was not as great, work-wise. We built a three meter fence. We built a three meter fence and it took three hours. I'm pretty sure an armless man would have given us a run for our money today. No matter where you go in the world: six people building a fence is two people building a fence and four people watching. And I got stabbed in the ass by a rusty nail when I jumped out of one of the nurseries. Shit pudding, indeed, dear reader.

Ok, enough complaining. Here are the things I meant to mention this week but failed to do:

• It rained too much yesterday for us to work so I sat inside drawing pictures with the kids. They asked me something like forty thousand questions in a language I barely understand. I drew a giant dolphin flying into a giant bear with regular houses below them. And a turtle aligator.
• Paul and I went to Cortè to get boots and he told me about a dream he had. It went generally like this: 'I fight three men. They bad men. Gangsters. They want to smash my face, but they don't know I can break their face. One is Tom Cruise. Tom Cruise? Tom Cruise. But I know I'm not really fighting them. I'm fighting something in me.'
  
• I swam in a 50 degree mountain river. SO COLD.
• I cinged my hair and eyelashes setting a brush fire.
  
• I told a super awkward joke that no one got. At Paul's house, Julie was talking about how at Christmas time at Spaggio they would play Christmas music and get more tips. I said, 'Oh, at Murky we didn't play Christmas music but I would get bigger tips by going shirtless and wearing a Santa hat. "Would you like a latte ma'am, because I work out a latte!' No one laughed and everyone at the table shuffled awkwardly while I continued my faux muscle flexing.

Goodbye Julie, Hello Pigs

I'm down at the Campana's house on the first rainy day since I arrived at Lutina. Unfortunately, I've come without my journal, so some things will surely fall through the cracks here.

I've been living out every ten-year-old's dream the past ten days: driving 4x4s, using heavy farm equipment, feeding and wrangling pigs. On Monday I helped Jean-Mathieu, Paul and Felipe put a handful of pregnant pigs into holding pens we built earlier in the day. Pigs are smarter than you'd think. Stronger too. It took all four of us to snare each pig by the snout, tie a rope around one leg, drag the pig into the pen (this took at least two people) and close and secure the make-shift gate. It was like 'Hey Dude' with more swearing and fewer boy problems.

Julie and I stayed over in Bastia (about an hour and a half from Lutina) two nights ago with a Corsican government official. We woke up at 6 am yesterday to make the ferry, only to learn that the Bastia-Nice ferry was cancelled. So we got Julie a ticket for a later ferry to Toulon and spent the rest of the day drinking coffee and eating cheese and dark chocolate. It's hard being me.

I got back to Lutina late last night after saying goodbye to Julie. And (surprise) without my interpreter, doing just about anything that involves speaking to anyone has become prohibitively difficult. There were about six words spoken in english at dinner last night. They were all Antonia learning colors. So...red, blue, green, pink, yellow and orange was just about all I understood at dinner. I understood 'are you sad that julie left?' because I picked up 'Julie' and 'sad' and at one point told the Campana's friend that Cincinnati was 100 kilometers from Columbus. Is that true?

CLIFFHANGER!

I don't know this guy, but I know this machine

This is what I used today, on the giant rolling mountains of Rapaggio, the land that we are clearing. We are hacking through bushes and the guy in this photo is doing nothing compared to the brush we are dealing with. In fact, don't even look at him. Wait for the real photos to be posted. We get geared up in heavy pants that can apparently withstand a chainsaw accident, knee pads and bright orange suspenders and helmets with ear coverers and a huge face screen to protect from all the flying debris. It is like pumelling through outer space but you are wacking bushes to pieces, not constellations in your space ship.