Hi all,
How is everybody doing? I’ve not been doing great, even though great things are happening. Nothing to complain about, just things to take note of and be mindful on.
Regardless, our getaway to Greece came just in time. Sitting on a sunbed, staring out over the pearly blue ocean, grilling my skin tan under the Mediterranean sun, is just what I needed. It’s a recurring theme on this newsletter. Greece has once again saved me a little bit.
Simone
The sun is scorching our still pale bodies on day two of our Corfu trip when we make our way to Dassia Beach, just north from Gouvia (which is where we booked our accommodation). The country roads leading to the waterline don’t give it away but the beach is very developed. Restaurants, clubs and resorts hug the coast, leaving no precious real estate unused. We don’t mind a little luxury every now and then but aim for more local establishments if we can find them. It seems that will not be an easy task on this part of the island.
We then spot a little building toward the north-end of the strip, souvenirs inside, small patch of grass in front, beds and umbrellas on top of it. “PLEASE RENT SUNBEDS IN TOURIST SHOP” a sign says out front. I walk in to ask about the price and find an older lady behind the counter. Two beds and an umbrella are 10 euros for the day so I pay the lady and we lay down on the aging equipment, luxury resorts on both sides.
A sign in front of the shop catches my eye. “SIMONE - GREEK JEWELLERY - HAND MADE SOUVENIRS - SINCE 1963” the sign reads. “Since 1963?” I think to myself, “has this store truly been here for 62 years already?” The shop must’ve been passed down to the lady inside from her mother or something, I guesstimate. Interesting. I decide to walk in and ask about it.
“Hello! I have a question, if you have time!” I amicably open the conversation, “has this store truly been open since 1963?” I decide to ask with undiluted intention. “Yes, it has. Been here all that time.” the lady says with a smile. “That must mean you are Simone then!” I conclude, though with a questioning tone. “Also correct” Simone continues. “I met my husband here on Corfu in 1960, during a holiday away from Paris, where I’m from, and opened up this shop in ‘63 after moving here in ‘62” she liberally shares. “Did you know this pebble beach used to be a sand beach, but people dumped the pebbles here under the assumption that it would be easier to maintain?” she continues without me prompting, “just one winter and most of it was flushed away again. Whatever was left is what we have today. That was a mistake, don’t you think?” she concludes with a grin.
We chat for a little more about how she managed to keep her store open this long, even with all this change going on around her. I learn she has two sons (both in their 50s) that help her out in the store, used to sell gold in the shop (because everybody came to Greece, and Corfu in particular, to purchase gold. It was about four times cheaper here than any other place in the world, due to a perfect blend of circumstances), and still has a deep love for the island. So much to unpack, but not enough time to do it. So towards the end of our conversation, I simply ask to photograph her. She happily obliges.
Corfu Donkey Rescue
It’s a little past 10AM when our 2020 Toyota Yaris rental car rolls onto the parking lot of Corfu’s Donkey Rescue. We’re on the middle of the island, we’re in the middle of nowhere. All we have around us is windy roads, dirt tracks, and this facility. Just before we lay our eyes on the entrance, a thought creeps up on us “are we going to be the only ones here? Will we be as welcome as they make it seem on the website? Are we showing interest or are we intruding?”
Our worries are for nothing. We are met by a small army of German people, perhaps just two separate families, and are greeted warmly by one of the workers of the facility. “Hello good morning everybody, please gather around here for a little bit!” he exclaims while approaching us. A short introduction and instruction about the facility follows. Don’t brush the animals in the front, they are recovering from illness, the donkeys in the back are fair game and we should spoil them with attention, the cats and dogs are all strays but are well fed and harmless, the grasshoppers are plentiful but won’t kill you. Got it.
The German families scurry off towards the back of the premise but Charlotte and I hang around the front to first interact with the cats and dogs for a little bit. The man continues his work in the vicinity too. Charlotte asks him for some more details about the sick donkeys. For a second I fear we might be bothering him during his chores but he instead embarks on a passionate monologue about the amount of care and energy they have for the animals.
Some donkeys have a skin disease, harmless to humans but still transmittable to other donkeys, and therefore are quarantining. Because some of these donkeys are extremely old, it takes a while for their immune systems to fight the infection though. The infestation became even worse when some inconsiderate tourists came to the rescue center with their own brushes and started brushing the sick donkeys first, then the healthy donkeys. I can notice the man’s emotion when he speaks on it. He’s not badmouthing the ignorant tourists but I can tell he’s still upset they made the situation worse because “all the donkeys just had to be brushed by them, for some reason. I couldn’t stop them in time.”
I look over my shoulder and see the three quarantined donkeys in a field by themselves. Fur spotty, skin dotted with wounds. A great sadness overwhelms me. One so great I can’t comprehend it’s true cause. Perhaps it’s the animals I feel sorry for, or maybe just the man trying his best to take care of them. It could also be that I’m mad at all humans as a species for always being so selfish and small minded, unable to open up our ears, eyes, and hearts for a greater compassion to encompass us all. Is this, by extension, why we still have wars? My mind wanders too much. The question becomes to great for me to answer on this day. So there’s just this sadness, when I look at these donkeys.
One of the walls inside the barn is covered in tiles, plaques, sponsorship notices, and lists of names. I assume the names of all the animals in the rescue center. A small memorial hangs on the opposite side: “Judy Quinn — ✟ 25.06.2024 — Founder of Corfu Donkey Rescue — We will never forget you”
We pet the donkeys, the cats, and the dogs roaming around. We don’t pet the insects but accept them as they are from a distance. We stick a donation in the box at the exit, knowing it will be put to good use.
Daylight studio update
Walls! We have walls! Well, walls other than the lumber used to make said walls. We arranged for plasterboards to be mounted so that we can paint them at this stage, but perhaps fully plaster the walls when we acquire some funds to do so. Big shout out to Sverre for helping us out with those plasterboards. Now the space needs a thorough scrub to clear away the dust again.
We’re currently in the process of figuring out the flooring. I advocated for a clean-looking vinyl, for ultimate minimalism, but Rafaël proposed a vintage wooden floor to accompany the industrial look of those giant windows in the space. I’ve since agreed that’s the right way forward but finding one that’s adequate for our use and still available when I reach out to a seller has been a challenge.
Overall progress has been rather slow. Too slow for my taste. But there’s also not much we can do about it. Both myself and Rafaël are busy working; me on the day job, Raf as a freelance photographer/videographer. We’re trying to make ends meet while also juggling our other responsibilities. It’s not sustainable long term but for now it’s the best we have. On top of that, we’ve started paying rent but we are not able to make much use of the space yet. Let alone start offering the studio as as service to other people. I’m not worried about it, per se, but it also doesn’t sit with me well. Next month I hope to share an update about our beautiful floor. Fingers crossed.
A note on soul searching
The past few weeks in Greece allowed me to take a step back and sit with my thoughts a little longer than the ten minutes I usually give myself. It’s something I need to do on occasion, for I need to put words to my internal processes to continue making sense of them. I think of it as soul searching and believe it’s what keeps me moving with intention and the creative vigor I pride myself on. It’s what keeps me myself, even when I’m not always sure who that person is (supposed to be) anymore.
Doing some soul searching is not just a cool thing to say. It requires actual, painful, laborious, work that doesn't really 'end' at some point but instead is an ongoing battle with your internal state and the world surrounding it, in an effort to find a version, your version, of peace that allows you to, not necessarily thrive, but at the bare minimum, exist without being in constant turmoil. For that will wear anybody down if you endure it long enough.
It's a battle not everybody has to fight, and will sound foreign to some, causing them to easily dismiss it as "unnecessarily complicating things that could be so simple if you just quit the overthinking, the apparent self-torture, the fact you're also killing the vibe of others around you" whereas others will recognize versions of your story but, hampered by their own limitations, will more quickly bombard you with well meant advice or, hopefully, relevant stories that sometimes help but, more often than not, don't quite hit the spot.
How could they? For soul searching is something you must do yourself. It cannot be outsourced. Nobody will be able to search for your soul. They won't find you, they will find themselves. So you must go. Go out and explore, experience, hurt, heal, search, search some more, find more pain, hurt more, heal more, then even more, more, more, more, more healing. Until you find what you're looking for. And then you just... live your life.
M
