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Well, so it has been decided and we have extended our tickets. Some may wonder why this was ever even a question, more or less a cause for concern. Maybe for some it would not be. But as much as a life of complete climbing is a treat there is another life left on hold. There are relations left uncared for, jobs left unattended, opportunities missed and friends missed even more. And so it goes that I often think of this life left behind and Joe rarely does. And that’s why he’s really good at coercing me to stay right at the perfect time. This of course is right after a big send, during the three day high where you decide nothing in the world matters more than climbing and you want to do it every moment of your life for the rest of it.  

         Please don’t get me wrong, I’m super stoked about staying. I’m climbing well and going to Spain will be as close to my comfort zone as I can get at this point. The language is more accessible and over the past few years we even have gained somewhat of a community there. Until then I’m heading to England for a week or so. All of my extended family is there and my dad is even coming over for a visit. It’s my cousin’s b-day and the celebration vibes should be on high. Plus, I’m really excited for the break. I’ve been to England tons of times and have never climbed there. I’ve always said my grandmother would take me out of the will if I went on some climbing excursion instead and having tea at her house. At that’s fine by me. It’s always enjoyable to extract myself from a climbing fueled existence and fall into regular reality where people dress up and go out and have jobs and talk about things other that beta. Of course all that excitement only last so long, and I’m sure I’ll be revamped for climbing upon my return.

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I’ll have to say my opinion has finally shifted about the French. It wasn’t that I ever really thought all French people were rude and callus, but in the past I had experienced a haughtiness that was, well lame. Before we had only come through France for a couple of weeks at a time max and in those weeks I had been screamed at by camp host, violently shooed at by pizza owners and nearly driven off the road by everyone else. I had decided the French were hot-headed (ie crazy) when their emotions took hold. They were kinda like New Yorkers, but I could never understand the clever explanation when it came out candidly explaining exactly WHY they had gone mental when I put my foot on a chair. This time around we’ve met an amazing group of locals who have us over for dinner share their stories and tell us about living the life in South of France. Everyone’s super encouraging about learning French and I’ll say the experience is words away from my practicing Spanish in that coming to a language with no base is a completely different challenge. You don’t know the alphabet, you don’t understand pronunciation or how to read. In French this is particularly challenging with so many silent letters, and emphasis on tones.   It’s pretty over whelming for someone who literally thought vuala was a magician’s term and thought everyone was being facetious when they said croissant like they had piece of it stuck in their throat. Moral of the story? There’s just too much amazing climbing in this damn country to write it off for being bitchy. I mean these people invented the Brassiere and ménage à trois for christ sakes, they deserve to be a little full of themselves as far as I’m concerned! As for us, we’re studying our French on audio tapes once a day like boring old people, checking out some new amazing little cliffs in the region since it looks like we’re likely not going anywhere. Oh yeah and we’re still getting run off the road on the daily basis, not sure if I’m getting use to this one yet.

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Besides our habitually stints at mcdonalds on our rest days, Joe and I have been attempting to do what 99% of tourist do when they come to Europe, site see. The last few rest days we checked out some of the mini old villas around our little campsite. We took a trip to Saint Paul a pretty famous little art town only 15 minutes from we’re staying. The late artist Miro has his own museum there, and the town itself is stacked with amazing little galleries all hung with awesome contemporary art. I have to say I was more blown away with the newer stuff we saw in the galleries, but it’s all matter of taste I suppose.As for climbing Joe and I both have a couple of super proj’s. Joe’s he’ll do any day now, mine, well I’ve left easier lines unclimbed in Europe. The next move is still in the air. We flirted with the idea of Italy, but really only because I want to eat the food and see the hilly countryside. We both know the better climbing is west in Spain, but we’re thinking a different region this time, possibly the Basque country. Who knows? We don’t! What’s new? Must be nice huh?xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx     xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx     xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx    colettecolettecoletcolettecolettecolettecolettecolettecoletteco     colettecolette