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.

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2 Responses to “My Last Night”

  1. Zane Says:

    Est-ce qu’Obama va gagner? Oui!You bet your chestnuts he is!

  2. leah Says:

    hey zack, so, i apologize in advance for this being a total misuse of your blog. i have nothing to saw about your witty comments on corisca, though on a fast glance they seem lovely. i actually am hoping you’ll do me a quick favor, and email me some info, namely your address (snail mail), your current phone number if its different than the old, your current email address, your current employer and your current ‘title.’ i want to use a reference letter you wrote me, and i cant unless i have that info. im glad that you’re atravelin. or maybe just really, intensely jealous. thanks zack!leah

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