Adventures into Health Sovereignty

In Finland, I wound up in hospital again. This time, it was appendicitis. I am told that acute appendicitis is quite serious, that it should be operated immediately and that if it ruptures there would be shit all over my lumen and that I could become septic and die. However, we waited 7 hours to see a doctor in Pori hospital.

When a short haired young surgeon did attend me, he proudly rattled off a number of epidemiological statistics to me and assured me it was safe and necessary, quick and cheap. When I asked him how he knew for sure that it was appendicitis, he proclaimed "When we remove the appendix, we will see the inflammation!!  In 90% of cases". This seemed absurd to me, but I soon realised that much of the decision making process in hospitals is based on epidemiology and not on what's actually happening for the patient. I had neglected this in my painful perusal of Kumar & Clarke.

Lauren had found some articles online about successful appendicitis treatment with hardcore IV probiotics. I love a good drip anyway, and with extremely concentrated urine, I was convinced that this was the right way to go. So I demanded it. The doctor was quite upset and didn't understand at all. In his mind it was safe, effective, cheap and quick, and I had insurance.

I assured them that 4 days in hospital was no big deal (I needed some rest again anyway) and did not give my consent to surgery. I was contemptuously delivered to a quarantined section in the surgical ward.

I was scared. Of course. Particularly for Lauren, who stood faithfully beside me and bravely held my hand and backed me all the way. I was forced to take a stand, to put some action and faith behind the words that I preach. These words are about my body's natural ability to heal.

But the appendix isn't important - we have been told. I didn't have the full download on the appendix but I knew it was part of my immune system. I'm also aware of how patients can "recover" and live "normally", without ever linking the cascade of health challenged that occur after having an organ removed. I just wasn't convinced that it was necessary.

I had a restless night and just as I found some peace and slipped into some solid as slumber, an Old Nurse stormed in, smacked me in the stomach and told me that they needed to operate. She was an Old Nurse and Finnish Matriarch and had seen it all. I was desperately hanging out for my test results. When they arrived, my CRP inflammation markers had risen from 24 to 71. Normal is 9. My heart began to beat faster, but the young nurse told me that while it was high, it was lower than expected, and they would continue to monitor me.

I got on to my friend, a champion in health sovereignty, Mason Taylor. We worked out that the appendix is a storehouse for beneficial bacteria, plays an important role in pulling out parasites and creates some hormones as well. Mostly, I wanted to know that I wasn't insane. Having Mason available and playing full out for me on Skype was so reassuring. When we take a risk and take responsibility, we put our trust in ourselves, but we don't need to be alone. Thanks brother. We discussed the role medicinal mushrooms Reishi and Chaga and the most powerful anti inflammatory food, tumeric, and Lauren smuggled some into the hospital for me.

I was on a mission to drive the inflammation down. Most of my sugar, wheat and chemical laden food ended up in the bin and the catering staff couldn't work out what to feed me. The nurses didn't seem to understand the benefits of fasting. When my tea came, I'd stuff the bag in the draw and unscrew two reishi capsules and drop them into the hot water. Eventually, the tumeric (curcuma extract 2400mg) tablets replaced the ibuprofen and paracetamol, because it was equally effective.

My friend Holly organised a Body Talk session for me on Skype with a remote healer. Tanja assured me that my appendix wanted to stay, and I explored some deep emotional links to my physical condition. I visualised my bowels being washed in healing water and I had complete peace and trust after this.

I had to step up and take a stand for myself with 4 different doctors, on the last day, 7 people marched into my room first thing in the morning to put the pressure on. My ass was swabbed every morning because I had been in hospital in India and I had to shit on a bucket. When I did, I made sure it was ripe. I was in quarantine. The nurses had to sterilise themselves. They were afraid of ME. I found this quite entertaining.I began making the most of my time in hospital, listening to Nakao Bear & Medicine for the people, taking half hour showers and sun toning / chakra singing, meditation and keeping the positivity high. I became overwhelmed with feelings of love and gratitude for life.

My inflammation came down and I was offered preventative  surgery one more time before I was discharged, with a warning that it WILL come back. The nurse who brought me my papers was speechless.I don't think anyone had stepped into sovereignty in Pori hospital before.

Now it was up to me to make some changes in my life and diet. I stopped eating meat. I agreed with Lauren to take the course of antibiotics prescribed but after 3 days, my tongue was white and I was losing sleep due to a severe fungal rash. I knew that the antibiotics were directly responsible. I read an intriguing Christian book about healing and was praying to God. I got an answer. "You say you are healed, why are you taking antibiotics?" I spoke to Lauren and stopped taking them.

Since then, I have had one flare up. I noticed that it only hurt if I was stressed or afraid. So I stopped worrying, popped a couple of coffee enemas and returned to healing. I'm grateful for the snake medicine for teaching me to trust myself.

Catalan Shit

I started melting down in Barcelona. Life was great but I wasn't enjoying it.

So we left the city and landed on the coast. The moment that we stepped out of the car we felt lighter... happy... on holiday.

Roses is a holiday town. The Mediterranean smells like seafood, not just fish guts. We spent hours on the rocks in the sun, diving into the ocean, watching fish and wind surfers capsizing.

We couch surfed with a school teacher named Quim. His house was a mess, because on the weekends he likes to party. We arrived in the evening as Quim was raving in the forest the night prior. At about midnight he took us and a cyclist from Brittany to a Reggae Bar on the beach in the middle of nowhere where his ex-students were getting high with the parents of his current students. Over dinner of fruit and salted cucumbers, Quim told us all about the Catalan tradition of shitting logs at Christmas and why the Spanish Government are fucking bastards. He also told us to go to Cadecque, so we did.

It was a pebble beach. We nailed some bad coffee which was actually enjoyable and began to come to life. Spanish folk music was in the air at the market and we spent the rest of the day eating apricots and cherries while walking around the peninsula and swimming naked. We absorbed an abundance of prana from the elements - sun, ocean and sand. I did a Rain Drop (usually an oil massage) for Lauren on the beach and the energy was electric.

Our time on the Costa Brava was truly a holiday within a holiday.

Beer, Fries & Chocolate

Beer, Fries and Chocolate? What more could you want? Throw in great coffee, raw food, decadent architecture, quirky customs and the most friendly people on Earth and you've got Belgium (or more accuratley, Ghent).

  Becoming accustomed to www.blablacar.com, we took a carshare on a rainy afternoon from Paris to Brussells where the circles of our travels began repeating on themselves. We made rendezvous with a Taiwanese lady who we met in a canoe on the Lake in Pokara, Nepal. Mai has been living and working as an artist in Brussells for 22 years. It's so strange and wonderful to be seeing an old friend on the other side of the world, albeit another English speaking human who we spent half an hour with for the sake of convenience. Mai gave us a brief tour of one of the most grande squares in Europe before we settled in for a cozy beer in the most ornate room that I've ever worn a t-shirt and shorts in. Lauren and I commented that we immediately felt a sense of ease in Brussells in stark contrast to Paris. We tried some local dishes and felt at home amongst warm stews and absurdly grown white asparagus - something a little more rustic than the refined peasant food of France. Mei took us back to her designer apartment (DIY), and with so much style, took a knife from the draw and proceeded to sharpen it on the bottom of a ceramic mug. We shared stories of India and Nepal over Leffe and cured meat and blew off our early morning ride. It turns out that you can get anywhere in Belgium in under an hour for 7euro by train. We lightened our load, leaving some bags behind and boarded the train to Bruges / Brugge.

Bruges is an astonishing little village, perfectly preserved as an outdoor museum of the 13th Century. The second zone of the city is modern, and that's where we had our most creepy couch surfing experience to date. We stayed with a very strange man indeed. He was harmless, but his house smelled of cheese balls and had pictures of him with famous people or latino women. He had a printed piece of paper on his door which cautioned ''Don't EVER wake me... unless it's for sex or the house is on fire''. We half expected to wake during the night and see the glimmer of his teeth and eyeballs as he watched us sleep. We didn't wake to such a sight and as far as I know, he slept in his room, sans sex with another human. As you can imagine, we got out of there ASAP in the morning, stashed our bags in a locker at the train station before learning the art of frying a chip and making chocolate. It's as underwhelming as it sounds, but Andalusian Sauce (actually from Belgium) is delicious. A side benefit was learning the history behind the term ''French Fries''. Next stop on our whirlwind tour of Belgium became our favourite town in Europe. Ghent. The mediaeval feel of Brugge with the addition of a university creates ambience and a ''lived in'' feeling. Ghent boasts its own 12th century fortified castle which has only been taken twice - once in the 1950's by students who were protesting beer prices. Beer is a way of life in Ghent. On a sunny summers day you will see the city filled with people, drinking out of brew-specific glassware on the canals. On weekends it's common to see a mobile bar powered by men drinking beer careening over the car-free cobblestone. We were witness to many raucous bucks and hens parties (Lauren signed a hairy man's stomach) and we've been told that O-week is brutal. One evening we left our wallet in a cafe. When we ran back with our CS host, Steijn, much to our dismay, the cafe was closed for the long weekend. By chance, the owner arrived, a little tipsy, she let us in, found the wallet with all the money in it and gave us a round of beers to celebrate.

We caught up with Bri and Lilith both in Ghent and Antwerp. Inter-city travel is like suburban travel for Belgians. It was great to drink Belgians best coffee (usually from Caffienation) with friends from home, throw disc again and always eat frites (chips). Our CS host in Antwerp also gave us a full expository of European Gin, which was most welcome on these stormy nights which left Antwerp looking like a warzone. We returned to Brussels only to be exploited by Ryan Air. We will never use a budget airline again.

A perfect day in champagne.

Have you ever had a day that you knew, before it had even begun, would be a day that you would probably always remember? Maybe you could call it anticipatory nostalgia? It's a ''remember that time next week when we had the best day ever?'' kind of feeling. A few weeks ago, a beautiful sunny Sunday was one of those days for us, and as such must be shared, so here it is. A perfect day in Champagne with Tyson.

Tyson and his amazing wife Rachael (and their fantastic boys for that matter) are truly great friends of ours whom we love dearly and when Tyson said he would be in Europe at the same time as us we definitely wanted to arrange a rendezvous. At the end of our time in Spain all we were sure of was that we wanted to go to Germany, and as geography has it, France is right in the way. Sneaky Champagne catch up scheming began!

Two carpooling trips, a night couch-surfing with a Kenyan ex-Olympic athlete, 4 days with a raw-vegan including one nude day, a night in Paris at the festival of music in the city centre with a friend we made doing yoga in India, two early metros, a train and another car pool trip later (other stories for other times...) we arrived in Champagne!

Overwhelmed at the excitement of seeing someone we actually know, my mind raced with dozens of questions all at once and couldn't decide which to send to my lips so I filled my mouth with farm fresh raspberries Tyson had bought on the way instead. He told us he had intended to buy strawberries but, due in part to Mr strawberry-struck-Stelzer's visits in previous days, the farm had run out!

Not one to do anything by halves, Tyson hadn't just sketched out a rough idea of things to do for the afternoon and evening but had carefully scheduled a wonderful day down to the hour, designed to ensure we would have the quintessential champagne experience and have plenty of fun along the way and simultaneously appearing to be making it up as he went along and surprising us every step of the way!

We caught up over lunch, swapping stories from the last few months and enjoying seafood with our first bottle of champagne for the day. Tasting pink peppers for the first time though was the highlight of the meal. I didn't know pink had a flavour!

Following lunch, we didn't need to drive far from the centre of Reims to our next appointment – a private tour and tasting at the most prestigious Taittinger (www.taittinger.com). Each moment at this exemplary Champagne house was saturated with centuries of tradition.


As we (literally) went deeper and deeper into Taittinger, or rather under it,

we learned about the processes and methods of champagne making, took in the history of the region and were swept up in the romance and mystery of the crisp 13th century cellars and below them the 4th century Roman chalk caves. Hundred year old lover’s graffiti, initials in hearts and flowers, short stair cases with overhead step guides for the hands of monks moving through the tunnels in the dark and rough marks of ancient hammers told the stories of the caves over time.

In total contrast, a ride in the elevator to a grand room just two floors above exposed the corporate modernity of the large international exporter in the tiny plastic faces of the French and Brazilian foosball players in the custom made table and the holographic soccer ball/champagne bubble labels of the limited edition bottles for the 2014 World Cup (Taittinger is the official champagne partner). Our experience of Taittinger was made complete with a tasting of the house’s specialty in a private room with our guide, Mathieu, who poured generously. Back in the car, with a bottle each for later on, we drove past the majestic cathedral and continued our adventure.

From the heights of splendour and opulence in the Champagne region, we changed pace for a while and spent a leisurely drive taking in the provincial village streets and charming vineyards of the Montagne de Reims area. We arrived at what Daniel and I thought was going to be a stroll through the forest (and it was at first – with dappled light seeping through high branches down to mossy stones and birds crooning us as somewhere nearby thrill seekers could be heard sailing down flying foxes on the ropes course). Tyson surprised us again though with a booking at the perchingbar which, as the name suggests, is a tree house style champagne bar in the canopy of the forest overlooking the vineyards and small towns of the district. It was the perfect place to watch the fields soak up the bright afternoon sun. If you happen to be in the area, this is worth the visit.

Another enchanting drive brought us to our next surprise, and a truly special place. Tyson had told us about his visits here from previous trips so the reputation preceded it, and we definitely not disappointed by dinner at Anselme Selosse's Les Avises. I can’t even describe how incredible our time at this brilliant biodynamic organic champagne house/restaurant was. We loved everything about it! The champagne was seriously incredible, with different aspects revealed as it befriended and welcomed each of the first 4 courses or so of our meal. And the food! My goodness! The chef creates a new 4-5 course menu every day, as he has done since the restaurant opened. He only uses quality fresh seasonal produce and (I hear) has never repeated an item.

That’s creativity! Everyone who books for dinner eats the same meal so other than selecting your accompanying champagne, you just sit down and enjoy the ride. And what a ride! Though there were many divine flavour combinations that kept us audibly “mmmm”ing as the night went on, the roasted goats cheese stuffed dates stand out for me as a delight. We had shared our table with another party of three. As we all chatted together after dessert we learned that we were sitting with included Jean-Laurent Vacheron (another champagne maker) who was celebrating his birthday. Jean-Laurent invited us to join him and his friend for another bottle before we all left.

At 11.30pm, driving back to our B&B Tyson announced that he had one last surprise that he was very excited about and suspected that we would be too. We pulled up on a quiet residential street in Chouilly and Tyson handed us both bags. Then, with the last light still lingering on the horizon and with the enthusiasm and glee of children, I discarded my shoes and climbed trees as we all picked white cherries! Almost every tree on the footpath of the street was a white cherry tree so there was plenty to go around and no one was awake to catch us in our midnight thievery anyway. The spontaneity and fun of it kept me grinning for days afterwards.

 

Back at Les Barbotines at Paul Clouet in Bouzy, the most darling B&B I can imagine, our champagne had been cooled and the sitting room prepared for us with chocolates and flowers from the garden and we settled in until the wee small hours… And so, sitting in our bathrobes, glass of champagne in hand, handful of cherries in the other, the day ended how it began; with great chats between old friends over fresh fruit.

 Breakfast here deserves a mention. Do you know that seen from The Little Princess when she finds that someone has made a feast of so many wonderful different foods that she can’t even imagine and it’s just so full of joy? Well that’s what awaited us in the dining room; a banquet of freshly baked croissants, brioche, soft breads, seven different types of preserves including mango and passionfruit, champagne jelly (I don’t know if anyone else makes this but it is basically spreadable champagne – if you ever see it BUY IT!), flat white peaches and apricots, yoghurt with strawberry compote, omelettes, cured meats, cheeses, herbal teas, coffee. I honestly felt like it was Christmas.

We have so so so much gratitude to Tyson for what was one of the best days ever.

On Leaving Paris

I was beginning to wonder whether I'd enjoy European cities at all on this trip. I'm a different person from the happy go lucky young version of myself who traversed this continent 5 years ago, drinking beer, cycling and chasing God. I've closed some doors, and opened many more. Beer, for example, was an exciting proposition, a purpose even, in 2008. But the scene has exploded in Australia since then. We have so many options. I'm overstimulated and uninterested. This is an insight into my introversion. The Notre dam is entirely uninteresting to me. But the Sacre coure, up on the hill with its smooth domes and symmetry, its focus on a singular mural has me captivated. Less is more. Not so much has changed. I still find God in the quiet places of the forest of my mind. Even now I like to consume culture through my mouth. But I'm more particular. I know what I like and don't like. Europe is a portal to the past. The way of life is as fixed as those immortal Roman pillars that dominate those cities, carrying the heavy load of past struggle and success intertwined in the portraits. Old stories adorn the louvre, depicting hope and great struggle, centralised around the beautiful Jesus story which in this age of connectedness seems like a small piece of the puzzle which worked in a certain way for so long even when in many ways we missed the point of his mission to reveal oneness. The food traditions are so fixed here. Breakfast is a non-event. Coffee and cigarettes are consumed after meals. Lunch is between 12 and 1 with dinner much later, but of course, the food is cooked! Whilst indulging in our habit of seeking out specialty coffee in the morning, we were informed that France would become the number one specialty coffee nation within 5 years, because French people drink French coffee. Italians are harder to contribute to, because they "invented" espresso, the books are closed. We were told that Australians have a similar arrogance. Once you think you have it, you've lost it. It is the glorification of the past that traps us there. If something has always been a certain way, it is probably time to enter a new paradigm. There are too many stories of war and poverty in circulation, perpetually recreating. I dream of something new. I wonder what the art of the future will depict? Using war machines for agriculture, playing with wild animals, extra terrestrial communication, shamanic energetic connection to the divine. I hope so. When we are free from the idea of scarcity and separation, life will really begin. Perhaps the progressive Scandinavian countries will be a source of inspiration. But I did enjoy Paris. It is a large, old city, making no apologies for flamboyance, class and arrogance. The arrogance is something else. They don't need to prove anything. Its dirty, there are immigrants selling rubbish, its touristic and grey but it doesn't matter. Paris is Paris, they say. We had a kiss under the Eiffel tower before our anniversary and an Indian man presented us with a rose. This brilliantly fulfilled my habit of finding flowers for Lauren on the change of each season. If he was an adorable old French man with a beret, we would have had no hesitation in paying the 2 Euros he was asking. But the Indian accent was too fresh and we turned it down.

Switzerland

The Switzer in Switzerland translates to gold, diamonds, watches, banking and the highest minimum wage for the natives, but for the average traveller it means swimming naked in icy but unbelievably vibrantly coloured magical water from glaciers below behemoth snow caps, collecting pollen and mushrooms and eating nachos in the Interlaken hostel because you can't afford a real meal. Switzerland was like a dream with the sound muted. A vast contrast to "Incredible India". The air was without odour and when our eyes were closed we couldn't tell that our train was even moving. Its a Utopia. That truly sums up our brief visit to the land of cowbells. *insert video

from the snow peas

Working on an organic farm in France, you never know what your daily activities will be. Maybe you'll be planting tiny seedlings for something the French call courgette (which features far too frequently in our dinner menu if you ask me), maybe you'll be putting the new honey into jars for the shop, maybe you'll be planting sunflowers in spirals with a guy who is in the midst a midlife reawakening who just wants to "be in the soil", maybe you will sit with friends cleaning and trimming the spring onions, or sitting on the back of a tractor with an alcoholic schizophrenic who is rarely seen without a joint (I think he is trying to get so high that the voices can't reach up to him) planting potatoes and discussing why it is that we call them 'French' fries, or you might be picking buckets of crisp, snappy snow peas. Every day is different.

Three things are almost guaranteed though.

You will have slightly strange and awkward conversations in a hybrid English/French/Spanish that has developed with everyone using a lot of their own language and a little of everyone else's and almost everyone will understand almost everything.

You will be filthy; maybe only your knees, or only three fingers on your right hand because apparently that's all you use to pull out weeds? but somewhere, definitely, and it is impossible to be clean before dinner, if indeed ever again.

And finally, weather permitting - but sometimes even when it is not - you will spend a few hours weeding the carrots while having philosophical discussions.

I love picking the snow peas. It's slow and tedious, yes, but it's quiet and it's lovely and warm in the greenhouse even on miserably cold and wet days. There is plenty of quiet time to think. Also, my hands are totally clean after picking snow peas which really just means that I can get straight into eating when I'm done without spending half an hour scrubbing my hands into a more palatable layer of soil and mud.

Snow peas grow on vines.

The first time you look at the vine and take all the snow peas you can see you'll think you have found them all and that you are ready to move along to the next section. You will, however, be mistaken. Such a conclusion is actually a sign that you have missed about two thirds of them and you should look again. There are always more snow peas to be found. Sometimes they are so low you can't see them at first or they are hiding behind other parts of the vine. Sometimes they are right in front of your face but camouflaged. So you look a second time. This time you pull back the little tendrils of the vine and peer around to find a few more, previously hidden from view. You get down really low and find the sneaky ones that were hiding underneath. You give the branches a little shake so that the snow peas which move more vigorously than the leaves are exposed and you take them as well.

The second time you think you have got them all, you are much more confident and you move along the vine a little to the next section. Once you are comfortably arranged kneeling next to your bucket all ready to start again, you glance back at the previous section with a sense of accomplishment only to discover to your surprise that there are more snow peas hanging there, waiting for you. Some things can only be found when looking back. 

After grabbing the few remaining snow peas from the previous section of the vine and returning to the messy tangled greenery in front of you, you work happily for a few minutes. Then Maeva or Willy or Sandra walks towards you, passing along the vine you have just stripped of all its fruit and instead of praising you for your attentive work and bounty of greens, they reach down and pick even more snow peas from the area you thought you had cleared 3 times already. Sometimes we need the perspective of another to see or gain more.  

Like I said, there is plenty of time to think while you are picking snow peas, and I found myself thinking about how what is true in the green house is true in life generally.

There are always lessons to learn, and beautiful moments to experience if you are looking for them. Sometimes life is incredibly tangled and messy and complicated and you are sure there is nothing good left in it. Look again. And if you can't find anything right at the time, wait a little while, move along a little and look back. Maybe your shift in perspective will help you to see. Life is humbling. Sometimes if you invite someone else over, show them the mess you are in, and you let them sit with you they can help you to see what you couldn't on your own.

So this is what I learned one humid morning on a happy French farm. And I wish you all happy snappy snow pea picking, in whatever way makes sense to you.