Let it snow(rain), let it snow(rain), let it snow(rain)!


We finally enjoyed our first snow of the season last night! Steady flurries of light snow over the course of the evening covered everything in a soft white blanket of peace and quiet. It was not too cold (minimum -1 C) to sit on the terrasse and appreciate the magic in relative warmth.




I had an new learning experience with the cold last Saturday. Looking back on it now, it was perhaps unwise to ride my bicycle to meet La Bande du Boudoir for our third and final evening of unbridled hilarity. We converged for supper at an apartment located about 30 bicycle minutes away. At -6 C, getting there was rough but I managed it without incident.

It was after three in the morning when I finally hit the wall and decided to head home. During the seemingly endless ride, I became so frozen that when I finally did re-enter a warm environment, my fingers and other extremities turned red and began to burn. I was uncertain how to proceed, but as the problem got progressively worse I decided to take quick action. I got in the shower (hot). The skin of my hands and feet burned bright red but the tender middles were still frozen and numb. I would call it an unpleasant experience overall.

Practical tip for future: cold water is the better choice in cases of pre-frostbite. Yes, of course! Cold water makes much more sense. Why should I force something when I can ease myself in shantih-shantih style?

Last night I was contented to lounge on the terrasse in zero degrees. But I think zero degrees is cold enough...


Why was I motivated to attempt such a risky ride? It all started when a funky group of people, mostly from my French class, came together for a goodbye happy hour last Saturday (witness the revelry in recently posted photos below). We are a random bunch, but one thing clearly unites us: we all laugh.

The wide diversity of cultures represented in our group - French, American, Latino and Russian - results in frequent and frequently hilarious cultural barbs. We mock our own cultural stereotypes, recognizing instinctively that they are meaningless caricatures; clearly we are one and the same. After laughing for six consecutive hours, we collectively decided to say goodbye again the following Friday. So we met for another happy hour and laughed the night away a second time.

I've had this experience a few times now and it's one of the things I cherish about my chosen lifestyle. There are certain fleeting moments when a group of travellers converges on the same place at the same time and sparks fly. One example that comes to mind is the two weeks I spent with friends in that adorable mountain village in Nepal the summer before last. We cooked and laughed together for nearly ten days.

I have forged a number of close connections with people from all over the world this way. Vastly different on the outside, our spirits are mutually inspired. Like a red bull for the soul, their inspiring presence remains with me long after we have separated. These people may not be a part of my daily life, but they are with me forever.

sleep well everyone, tomorrow is another day,

LMA