I voyaged out to Fontainebleau a village/forest just Southeast of Paris only a forty minute train ride. This is a place I’ve wanted to get out to but haven’t been able to due to time, going alone, and many other unreasonable justifications. I went alone, scolding myself for being so afraid, or boring, or lazy, or whatever reason was holding me back, without a map a clear plan or any idea of the weather situation; it is winter. I buy tickets but do not validate them, as is the French custom, I forgot to on the trip there. It was a good thing I wasn’t checked by the ticket controller. I arrive at the Bleau with a slight drizzle, a slight daze and glaze over my eyes as I realize I have no idea of direction. After wandering the streets I am able to orient myself after a couple bus stop maps and set off in a direction leading straight into the forest.
Its wonderful the red, green, yellow colors of the trees and the sweet smell of dying leaves and the cool air cement a smile on my face even though the threat of becoming irrevocably lost looms around every turn. I reach a look out point; take a few snapshots and I’m on my way, only to run into a person! I nod with the courteous bonjour, only to get the bumbling of an Irish man. To my credit I understood every word. It turns out we were both climbers and I happened to bring my shoes and chalk if the occasion arose where I could climb. We talk of politics, women, and occupation. His ungraceful manner of conversing eases my mind and lets me open up as well.
The local spot is wet, so he offers to drive to another. We hop in his dinosaur of a rental car, another great story of luck and his Irish innocence. But we make it to the boulders guided by a bunch of curious Germans and set up shop. Climbing is climbing I do not need to explain. I’m dropped off at the station with plans to return the next day for grander endeavors. The high from the day, the fatigue, the blistering hands prompts me to test fate again and not validate my tickets; blast those appeals of being a stowaway. I’m back in Paris again, the usual fashions, the usual tourists, the usual smells, the usual cold, I cook the usual meal, all of which have never tasted so great.
I return the next day well welcomed and eager to climb despite the hurt of my body. A new zone, interesting and still resembles any climbing community back in the states, complete with dreadlocks, hammocks, slacklines and polite grungy personas. The climbing is only oddly conventional, as I’ve seen these people before walking around and chatting about in Yosemite, Joshua tree, Idyllwild; the only difference is they speak Japanese, Swedish, German, French. Yet, they are somehow able to laugh and joke as if they all spoke the same language. I engage and understand how easy it is to partake in the joking despite the obvious communication barriers. An occurrence that strikes me as amazing, and impossible, this doubt, of course, stems from my American origins.
We meet some Swedes, Andreas and his sister Sandra. Great people and apparently well versed in the art of travel and “vacation”, both easily summed up with the word “life”. They are superb climbing partners and offered us diner, the only demand on us was the dessert, which was easily remedied by rum raisin ice cream and butter crackers. The night was rare as I am used to harboring foreigners in San Diego from Australians to California road trippers, and here we all are in a foreign place getting along discussing lives, travels, occupations, and philosophies. We exchange palettes and simple recipes. I feel this is not a rare event in Fontainebleau but significant nonetheless to all who partake in such meetings. I feel these are people who are able to let go and roam with some cash in their pocket and with out a fear of awkward conversation. Andreas uttered a mantra, one already having blessed these ears yet always brings a revelation; there are two types of people, those who lead their lives out of fear from doing and those who lead their lives from desires. I reflect and see me filling both roles at certain times, and I fear that I am moving towards letting my desires design my life; a scary transition yet calming.
I still have my tickets, and I plan on using them to get back every weekend until I get caught. Wish me luck
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