Sitting in the midst of my favourite painting

My favourite painting isn't one you'll probably know. It is, however, by an artist you know well. A lesser known Van Gogh, painted in Arles (also where he painted some of his better known pieces such as The Yellow House, Bedroom in Arles, Self-Portrait, The Night Cafe, Starry Night Over Rhone, Still Life: Vase With Twelve Sunflowers, Cafe Terrace at Night, and Van Gogh's Chair . . . Incidentally, Arles is also where Vincent Van Gogh cut off his ear.

My favourite is called The Poet's Garden (or sometimes Public Park with Weeping Willow). It was painted in 1888, and is a massive oil panting on canvas (you can see it at the Chicago Institute of Art).  The poet's garden series were painted and used to decorate Gauguin's bedroom when he came to visit Van Gogh in Arles. Also, the scene itself reminds me a little of how I feel in my parents' garden at home in New Zealand. The colours are bright and lively, and I just want to lie in that grass with a book and breathe in the scents of all of those leaves and flowers.

Van Gogh wrote about this painting in a letter to his brother, on September 16th 1888.


He wrote:
"There is a square size 30 canvas, a corner of a garden with a weeping tree, grass, round clipped cedar shrubs and an oleander bush. The same corner of the garden, that is, which you have already had a study of in the last parcel. But this one is bigger, there is a citron sky over everything, and also the colours have the richness and intensity of autumn. And besides it is in even heavier paint than the other one, plain and thick. That is picture number one this week."

I decided, in a fit of romanticism, that I wanted to spend my birthday in this painting, take a picnic, and just experience it. So, I headed on the train for Arles. I had differing information as to which park this actually depicted. One source said that it is directly outside of where the Yellow House used to be, in Place Lamartine, the other that it was the main public park in the center of Arles. Place Lamartine has pretty much been destroyed. There's a decrepit Monoprix (France's Walmart), a bank, and a token fountain with a heavily trafficked roundabout. So, whether or not it is actually the main public park (the woman at the tourist office said it was, but I didn't really believe her because she didn't actually know the painting I was asking about), this is the one I ended up at.

The park seemed to have a shrine dedicated to Van Gogh, which seemed promising (however much of the town revolves around either Van Gogh or the beautiful Roman ruins that still exist in Arles).

It was missing the lush grass of my dreams . . .

And there was far too much concrete . . .

And the flowers almost seemed to be forced, like they were attempting to put Van Gogh's bright colours into the world, when really, Van Gogh brought those bright colours out of everyday vegetation. . . 

But when I lay down on the grass, and looked up . . . there was my garden. The darks and the lights, and the beautiful lush green leaves. It was exactly the time of the year that Van Gogh was painting here, too.

Whether or not it was actually his garden, I may never know. But it is nice to know that if I find a patch of grass, and some beautiful trees, I can lie down and imagine my way into my favourite painting anywhere and at anytime.

The infographical half-year mark, brought to you from Turkey.

Six months ago today was my last day of work in the office at National Geographic. In those months, since leaving my home, "security," and my sedentary life behind . . .

I've stood on 5 continents, cycled across countries, visited wonders of the world, spoken words in many languages, participated in celebrations, marriages, and festivities of cultures different from my own, worn local clothing, and taken all forms of interesting transportation.

All of these experiences can be quantified and explored, and being at the halfway mark for this year, and the six month mark for my journey, I wanted to do some reflecting on this experience. Plus, my giant geeky geography side just had to play with some of these numbers and maps. If I were truly meant for academia, I'd bust out "R" and attempt to dazzle you with my statistical prowess, but alas, quantitative methods were never my thing--instead you get pretty-ish graphics. Some of them you'll have to click on to get a full view to see the actual detail.

From A to B:

Of the distances I've travelled, 83% has been done by plane on intercontinental flights. For internal travel, I've used cars, busses, trains, boats, and my bicycle. All up, I've travelled 54,000 km (enough to fully circumnavigate the globe and then some). For those of you out there without the math gene, of those kilometers, 45,000 were by plane. The number of trees I will have to plant to make up for this massive carbon footprint: debatable . . . air travel emissions per person per kilometer are difficult to calculate. They are affected by the length of flight, especially because a high percentage of emissions are caused by the initial take-off. It also differs by size of plane, etc. And let's not even think about type of tree, or length of tree life. So, stab in the dark estimation of 8000kg of CO2 emissions for my vehicular/plane travel on this trip, and stab in the dark estimation at 50 trees. Bring on a plantation woofing experience. Would love to hear from those more knowledgeable in this area--Kate? Simon? Figo? And I completely recognize the ambiguity of this kind of calculation (or lack of calculation in my case--as I attempted calculators and saw such variation that in the end I essentially made it up using dubious averages). Really, the best option is to minimize carbon output (the whole practice of tree planting as equal to output is kind of ridiculous, but better than nothing), and for that I hope that my recent bicycle travel is helping some, and that I continue with that mode of transportation when possible, and when not, take the train.

The Lat and the Long of it:

Vertically I've been from 47 degrees south on Stewart Island in New Zealand, to 52.5 degrees North in Berlin, Germany. I've crossed the equator four times, twice by plane, twice by bus.

I started at a longitude of 77 degrees West  in Washington DC, crossed over the 180 degree mark (or International Date Line), where on one side you are the first to get the start of each day, and on the other, the last to start each day. I reached New Zealand at 175 East, Bangkok at 100 E (marking half way around the world from where I started), New Delhi at 77 E, Berlin at 13 E, Lille at 3 E. I crossed the Greenwich Meridian on my way to Biarritz on the train from Paris at 1.6 West, and crossed back to on my bicycle on the way to Treziers at 2 East, and now I'm in Istanbul at 29 East.

Clearly not the most efficient way to traverse the globe, but surely diverse geographically.

How high?

On my bicycle I reached 450 meters in elevation. This may not seem high to you (and it isn't, really), but when I looked out over the rolling foothills of the Pyrenees, it was with a feeling of accomplishment. During my travels I have been at sea level, right on the beach on the island of Ko Russei in Cambodia. I have been below sea level in Holland. Approximately a third of the country lies below sea level at high tide, and is only saved from flooding by an extensive dike system. I have been in the foothills of the Himalayas in Manali, India at 1,950 meters, at the base of Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania and in the foothills of the Pyrenees in France.

The Many Firsts:

• First Dung Beetle sighting
• First Lion sighting
• First time camping by myself (not in the proximity of lions)
• Two new continents (Africa and Europe)
• First time I have cycled more than 50km in a day
• First time I have cycle-toured
• First time I have self-propelled myself across a country
• First sleeper train experience
• First time woofing
• First time tending to a hive of bees
• And about a million other things

Educationally speaking:

I've also had a lot of down time, time to reflect and read and listen and watch. In this time I've undertaken a kind of education of my own selection. Thanks to the wonders of kindle and my ipod, and free classics, I've read Thoreau, Dickens, Keats, Whitman, Austen, Alcott, Louis Stevenson, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Lewis Caroll, E.E. Cummings, Mary Shelly, Sir Saint Thomas More, Frances Hodgson Burnett, and thanks to the world network of travelers exchanging books I've read Coehle, Bryson, McCourt, Shreve, Potok, and more. I've tried to read new books, local books, strange books, as well as classics. I've drawn, painted, crafted, and sewn. I have taken 3,153 photographs. Thank god for digital cameras.

On my ipod I have watched 107 Ted Talks, the great thinkers, scientists, organizers, and artists of our generation. I am more interested in solutions than in problems. I've heard enough about problems to last my lifetime, I think. There are more than 900 of these talks available for free as podcasts on iTunes, or on the web--so I think I have enough to entertain myself for awhile.

I've listened (and talked along) to 121 French podcasts, many while cycling mile after mile. I've read books in French, and talked about globalization, climate change, poverty, racism, marriage, children, literature, beekeeping, cooking, music, art, and philosophy in French (albeit stilted).

I've seen where kings and queens stood, where wars were fought, where pilgrims walked and artists painted. The stories of my childhood are coming to life, accompanied by color and sound, smells and tastes.

I've cooked and eaten and purchased foods I'd never thought of before or knew existed. My taste buds have expanded exponentially. I wish I'd kept track of the number of different types of cheeses I've tried, but at this point it's just ridiculous. I've gardened and tended to bees, processed honey, pollen, and royal jelly. I've selected spices from the alleys of New Delhi, carried them to Kenya, and cooked with them in Berlin.

The ups and the downs:

At times I am tired. At times I am lonely. I've had uncountable mosquito bites, several bad sunburns, 14 bee stings, my first blisters and callouses farming, an encounter with dubious cheese, and a little finger that goes numb after a few days of cycling. I've been so cold in my tent on one occasion that I wore all of my clothes, and so hot in a beach bungalo that I've worn none.  I've worn clothes that were washed by hand (mine) and probably would not qualify as clean. I've had all sorts of interrupted nights in hostels--snorers, partiers, early morning flight transfers. But at all times I am in awe of this experience, thankful for the opportunities that I am presented with and excited by the unfolding of each day. I think I can safely say that six months has passed well, and that this experiment in living has been successful. I've even come in under budget--it is doable, and more than worth it. Let's hope the next six months are as fabulous, and that I continue to enjoy each day as much as I have thus far.

Have I done what I came to do?

If we look back at my initial aims, in an earlier blogpost, you can see that I had four goals for this voyage.
1. To be bilingual
2. To be able to grow my own food and keep bees
3. To survive biking long distance and camping by myself
4. To gain a sense of scale, perspective, and understanding of the world

I'm working hard on number one, but am by no means there (the more I learn, the less I think I know). Waiters and waitresses still frustratingly reply to me in English, however I have had my first experience in a hostel where someone asked me a question in English and I replied in French without thinking. I've definitely learned lots more about number two, and am excited about the food, and warily respectful but still very interested in the bees. I really liked tending to them by the end, and as you can see from my graph, I got a bit better at it. I think I can check off number three successfully, and while I think number four is a lifelong goal, I would say I've added hugely to this over the last six months. Good start, I say. Now bring on all the comments about my ridiculousness for quantifying this experience :)