I have a confession to make. For the past three years, I have been utterly miserable in France. I’ve wanted to share some of the pages of my private journal, but who wants to listen to overwhelming negativity? Those who know me may be surprised to hear this, you know me as a highly energetic person who goes after what she believes in. And I’ve been through a LOT already in my life, building up resilience, but perhaps this has also eaten into my tolerance for shit.
And throughout the past few years, there’s been some shit.
1. My professional dream projects were crushed by a Hollywood trickster (you know that movie, Inventing Anna? Like that, only this lady was much older);
2. Recurring miscarriages, health issues, a difficult pregnancy and birth with Sahara all literally knocked me out for over two years (along with crowds and aggressive kooks, I’d all but given up on surfing in France);
3. I lost my primary source of income just a few weeks back to remote work after taking three months maternity leave (which the company did not pay for) - the way my dismissal went down was utterly appalling.
But to be honest, I’d not been happy in France for a while. I have struggled to make friends here, our rental house was full of mold, falling apart, and costing us a fortune in heating bills (and the aging pool went green last summer despite our hemorrhaging of cash to revive it - pools must be one of the most unsustainable ‘luxury’ household items, like, ever?), and I’d all but given up on learning the language - the frequent looks of horror received whenever I tried to parle français had become too much.
The kids, on the other hand, integrated to life in France seamlessly. They spoke conversational French within months, made friends instantly, were excelling at school, and thriving in their respective soccer teams. It was for them that we endured the southwest region, with its plentiful downpours and brutal heatwaves, for so long. But at some point, you can’t sacrifice everything for your kids. What good is a miserable mother? And I was miserable.
“Mum, you always say you hate this house, and you hate France,” Hunter called me out.
Enough was enough. I needed to turn my misery around and find solutions. I’ve always managed to snap myself out of the shit over the years and France had already sped up the production of my grey hairs and wrinkles. I was tired, but I had so much life yet to live. I couldn’t keep waiting for boat life to come in the future. I had to step up and activate and bring our dreams to fruition in a way that we could all enjoy the process and not just cling to the destination.
And then, I started working with the girls from Women & the Wind…
Meeting through Instagram (at a time I was considering deleting my account), I was thrilled to be working on a 2D documentary again, and started to bounce back to my bubbly self, despite the loooong wet season and the rapidly deteriorating rental house we were still confined within. Through meeting Kiana and working on their film, I immediately discovered the wonderful world of Wharram Designs – wooden catamarans designed by the late James Wharram and inspired by traditional Polynesian double canoes – and, after convincing Remy and the kids we needed to build a Wharram Narai Mk IV (a sturdy ocean cruiser) for our Floating Stories Lab, we met Hanneke Boon, the Queen of Wharram herself.
After a week experiencing life at anchor on Spirit of Gaia, Hanneke’s Pahi-63, in Portugal, we returned to Ondres and eagerly plotted our next moves. Given our collaboration with Dr. Corina Ciocan from the University of Brighton to disseminate research about the impact of fiberglass on marine environments, and my ongoing MA in the Creative Industries, we knew we wanted to turn our boat build into a purposeful, knowledge exchange project, including the desire to explore bio-composites and better understand material supply chains in the boating industry.
“Where should we build it?” asked Remy.
“Not here!”
We both knew that such a huge undertaking would require a fresh start, in a new region, ideally one where we’d be more embedded in a sailing and boat building community.
Bretagne!
We’d visited Bretagne (Brittany) a couple of years ago and absolutely loved the region; the space, wildness, ocean-culture.
So, I began to do what I do best – planning.
· Move out of Ondres house by summer (July);
· Attend the fiberglass (GRP) Symposium in England;
· Send the boys to Japan to visit their dad for summer;
· Temporarily base at Remy’s parents’ house in the southwest over summer as we made our ‘transition’; and,
· Visit Bretagne to ‘recce’ the area we might like to move to – Lorient.
The last weeks of July, though exciting, were some of the most stressful in recent times. The first three items on my checklist above all landed in the same week, along with Ryder’s Brevet exams - to receive the National Diploma upon completion of college (middle school). Sahara also started crawling as we began packing up the house - Worst. Timing.
I was openly devastated at how much ‘stuff’ we’d acquired in such a short time, throwing my hands up and tormenting the family with my disgust. If you’ve followed me on social media for years, you’d know I’ve lived a semi-nomadic life for the best part of 21 years, including with the kids, and this would not be the first time I’d sold up material items to end a lease and move forward. The trouble I find is in living ‘semi’ nomadically; renting unfurnished places requires you to buy the household basics, while having the kids in school and football clubs means they end up with more clothes and shoes than they had say when we were crossing Asia overland. With Remy working in corporate the past few years, his wardrobe had also expanded to ‘fit in’ to this rather rigid French white collar environment. I was not innocent either, my books – which I refuse to part with – were now filling up several boxes and threatening to break Remy’s back (in fact, they did break one of the plastic storage boxes during the move, and his back is pretty fucked, too).
Whilst backpacking, we were exhausted with the constant moving and I also found it hard to dive into deep, thoughtful work without a comfortable writing space. Whilst renting, I felt trapped and too settled, and the isolation dried up all my creativity.
Boat life promises a compromise; our wooden catamaran will become a familiar ‘home’ and creative workspace, which we can move to new environments as we (and the wind) desire. We’re also constantly told by liveaboards - especially families - that the sailing community is incredible. I fear not for isolation living aboard, and we had a taste test of the kind of Sea People community we’ll meet in the future during our short stay aboard Gaia.
Back to my check list.
Boxes everywhere, check.
Ryder’s Brevet, check.
Presentation for the GRP Symposium created, check.
The boys loaded clothes into their backpacks and went off to friends’ houses for a few days whilst Remy, Sahara and I flew off to England.
And so, it is here I will close today’s newsletter, whilst giving you a warm welcome to a new phase of Kinscript. For too long, I’ve procrastinated with this newsletter, unsure as to what tone to take or what pieces of my life and thoughts to share. And, perhaps, during the depths of my depression, I didn’t feel like writing at all.
But I’ve missed writing personal anecdotes and building this community with you. Sure, we have our Voyage Virage Substack, which is growing rapidly, but I also want a space to get more personal, to share the highs and lows of this ‘fresh start;’ a new chapter of building a boat and living in France, of mothering whilst being an independent creative, and stories that influence how I see the world, including insights from the people and places I encounter all along the way.
As we are now a few weeks on from our trip to England and the rest of the items on my check-list, the next newsletters will bring you up to speed, beginning with an account of our time in Brighton and my presentation at the Symposium (I did give some updates about the Symposium in our latest Voyage Virage newsletter, but will dive into the personal experience more in my next Kinscript edition), then our camping trip in Bretagne, where we met with Hanneke again and unboxed our boat plans, visited boatyards in Lorient, sailed on a Wharram, and made a last minute – potentially fateful -decision to extend our trip and follow Hanneke up to the Finistere region (Fell.In.Love) for the Douarnanez Maritime Festival.
As always, thank you for being here. If you would like to financially support my work, you can do so by becoming a paid subscriber.
A quick note on the Women & the Wind film: we’ve gratefully completed post-production, submitted the film to festivals around the world, and are currently awaiting notifications in order to share premiere and screening dates. Follow Women & the Wind on Instagram for updates.