Ink – By a Cyclist, For a Cyclist

Lots of pretty things to see when riding along the Rhine river in Germany… and heaps of castles!

It’s great meeting people from all walks of life, but there’s always a little extra kick you get when you meet folks who have a lot in common with you… Earlier this week I received a couchsurfing invitation from a fellow cyclist from Portland, Oregon who now lives in Wiesbaden, Germany. He spotted my profile among those of other surfers who were looking for a place to stay in his region and took a chance; I would be his first CS guest.

Later Rick would tell me that as he looked over my profile, he got the sense that he somehow knew me. There was something familiar about what he saw that was jogging his memory. So he had a closer look at my blog and my facebook page, and that’s when he figured it out; he’d seen my name come up on his friend Charlie the Bikemonger‘s page back in August. One degree of separation… Small world!

Hanging with Charlie at his shop in Swanage, Dorset, UK.

Charlie was the guy who’d set me up with a Surly LHT bike frame way back before this Euro tour even started. After a few friendly long-distance chats with him and his wife Michelle to sort out the deal, I decided that I would definitely swing by their shop in Swanage when I rode through England a few months later. It was on my ‘to do’ list from the get-go.

When I finally did make it down to Swanage six months into my tour, I was glad I’d made the trip. Michelle’s as sweet as she’d sounded on the phone, and to say that Charlie’s a pretty fun guy to hang with would be a gross understatement. Plus, he had a shop full of fun stuff, including some Surly bikes with larger-than-life tires that are a riot to ride.  What you soon realize after spending a bit of time with Charlie is this: If there are people out there who are into Surly bikes… they probably know Charlie too.

Rick riding at the cyclocross race in Belgium.

Sure enough, Rick has had a few Surly bikes over the past couple of years. His first big-boy Surly toy was a Moonlander, and later he would do the Camino de Santiago on a Pugsley. There are still a few Surly bikes in his collection today (he currently has 11 bikes!) And yes, he’s also met Charlie; once at the single speed World Championships in Italy, and a second time in Belgium at a Cyclocross race, where both men competed. (Though in Charlie’s case, the challenge was to beat the drunks and the jokers to come in last.)

Rick’s love affair with cycling is nothing new. He was riding mountain bikes back when he was studying biogeography in college in Oregon, and started adding more bikes to his collection about ten years ago. Single speeds, cyclocrosses and more mountain bikes, then some vintage bikes to spice up the sauce. When he moved to Germany for work three years ago, he started commuting by bike every day. In fact he just completed his first year of not owning a car, which I’d say is a great cause for celebration. …I suppose some would believe that it was fate that brought a tattoo artist into Rick’s home just in time for the anniversary. What better way to treat yourself after a year of eco-friendly commuting than to get that cycling-themed tattoo you’ve been dreaming about!

Rick and his Surly Pugsley at the end of the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage.

So last night we put in 5 hours to give Rick his tattoo, an homage to three great passions in his life: Cycling, the great outdoors, and world travel. I’d been given clear and simple instructions before I started working on the design: No cycling tattoo clichés. Beyond that, I was practically given carte blanche (what a treat!) The end result was a design built around a single speed chain ring, with stylized leaves – one kind of  leaf for every continent – to give the image an organic feel. An oak leaf, ponderosa pine needles, bamboo leaves, a coffee leaf… Oh, and Rick’s friend Tom, a beer-loving co-worker who’d seen the design before we got started on the actual ink, suggested adding a hop cone, in honour of all the good times that were had when beer and/or bikes were around. Why not. We’ll say that one is for Antarctica… 🙂

An oak leaf for Europe, bamboo for Asia, the maple leaf for the Canadian tattoo artist 🙂 , the coffee leaf for South America, the hop cone for… beer!

The holm oak leaf for Africa (Morocco) on top and the weeping heart leaf below for Oceania.

… and finally, the ponderosa pine needles for North America (the Pacific Northwest, specifically, where Rick is from.)

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Wishful Thinking and ‘Fishful Inking’

Hanging with Ron Ris in front of Dogstar Tattoo in Aalsmeer, the Netherlands.

After spending a fun weekend celebrating King’s Day in Amsterdam, I started heading southeast towards the German border. On my way down, I stopped to spend a few days in Aalsmeer with a host from couchsurfing named Walter, who would not only show me around all the cool places to see in the area, but also introduce me to Ron Ris, the patriarch at the family-owned and -operated Dogstar Tattoo (which is also home to world class tattoo artist Jamie Ris, Ronny’s son). Very humbling visit to the tattoo shop, I tell ya.

When I arrived at Walter’s home, I was greeted by his 21-year-old son, Rajko, who with his friend Rik was sorting through some ‘stuff’ in the living room. On the sofas and coffee table were several tackle boxes, their contents spilling out onto the furniture. Upon closer inspection I could see all manner of fishing gear spread out around the boys; lines, hooks, sinkers, floats, bait, and plenty of other stuff I wouldn’t know what to call. Soon they were passing me jars of brightly coloured marble-sized balls and telling me to sniff. What looked and smelled like candy was actually fish bait, each variety designed to be most effective for catching a specific type of fish in a particular kind of environment. It was clear that these boys were serious about fishing. And when they told me how much they’d spent on their gear to date, (about 3000€ each) I started to understand just how serious they were.

Rajko’s carp tattoo, taken directly from the logo for the Nash Tackle company.

When Rajko found out I was a tattoo artist, he immediately seized the opportunity to get a tattoo he’s been thinking about getting for years. He pulled a sweatshirt off the couch and showed me the logo that was embroidered on the chest. It was a Nash shirt, and the logo has a stylized carp swimming with its mouth agape. “Can you tattoo this on my arm?” asked Rajko, pointing to the logo, excitement radiating from his eyes. I smiled. Sure kid. This is your lucky day.

And a lucky day, it was! While there was still a bit of daylight, I went out with Rajko and Rik to see them in action. We went to some ponds along the edges of the Aalsmeer Flower Auction building, which is one of the biggest building in the world (its footprint covers 243 acres). Within 30 minutes, Rik caught a carp. Ten minutes after that, it was Rajko’s turn. Considering they sometimes spend entire days waiting for something to bite, I’d say this was a pretty successful night out. Both fish were reeled in with patience and grace, lifted out of the water with a large net, gently set down on a padded mat, ‘unhooked’ with great care, photographed, then carried back to the water on the pad to be smoothly lowered in and released with as little trauma as possible. If all animals could be treated with this kind of respect, we’d be living in a different world…

Nice little carp, there! Moments after this picture was taken, the fish was eased back in the water.

Rajko’s passion for fishing has been growing since he first went fishing with his father at the age of 5. His greatest fishing partner over the years, however, was his grandfather, who taught him the basics and got him hooked on the sport. In the very beginning, Rajko was angling minnows, but he soon acquired a proper fishing rod and by age 8 he’d made his first big catch, a bream fish, with his grandpa by his side. Next he moved on to fishing predators, starting with perch. At about this time, he met Rik, who was also interested in fishing. The boys started spending a lot of time together, getting more specialized and developing their skills. By age 12, Rajko had caught his first pike.

To anyone who doesn’t know much about fish (like me), reading this chronology of accomplishments might not have much of an impact. But when you find out how big these fish can get, the description of Rajko’s fishing experiences takes on a whole other meaning. The biggest perch he’s ever caught was 43cm long. The biggest pike, 88cm. The longest catfish was 1 meter long. These are big fish!

Rajko and Rik pulling a carp out of the water.

At age 15, Rajko met Nico, a man who would become the boys’ new mentor and introduce them to the world of carp fishing. Rajko started night fishing with Nico, spending entire nights out in a tent, waiting for carp to bite on one of many lines that were set up along the water’s edge. Fishing became an obsession for Rajko; he went out every weekend, no matter what the weather was like. He was hooked!

Today, the passion is as alive as ever. Rajko and Rik both have jobs in other fields (they need to work so they can buy their gear, of course) but they both dream of having the perfect job as fishing equipment testers for the big fishing gear companies. Talk about a dream job for a fishing passioné… In the meantime, they’ll continue developing their skills in various styles of fishing (fly-fishing, vertical fishing, perch fishing, surface fishing and of course carp fishing) and adding to their incredible collection of gear (Rajko has 17 fishing rods!) And there are other goals on the horizon. The boys haven’t gone deep-sea fishing yet, for instance. I can only imagine how much of a thrill that’ll be for them…

Oh, and I invited them to come to Canada. Plenty of fish there, and I’d be all too happy to take them out ice fishing!

Tattooed Travellers, Tiny and Tall

Making my way north towards Belgium.

When I came back to Europe after a four-month winter break in Canada, my friend Charlie the Bikemonger posted something on his wall to let his friends in Belgium know that I would soon be coming their way. Then one of his friends (who now lives in France) passed the message on via his own facebook account, which is how eventually Cécile, a young woman living in Lille, in northern France, came to know about my project. She wrote to me about a tattoo that she’d been thinking about getting for a while, and graciously offered me a place to stay… so I delayed my trip into Belgium by a day and accepted this fellow cyclist’s invitation.

The crippled frame of Cécile’s bike.

Cécile had two bicycles in her artsy apartment; a shiny and new bronze-coloured city bike that had just arrived the previous day, and the bent remains of a bicycle that she’d bought for 10 Euros in a thrift shop four years earlier, and had loved ever since. Unfortunately, the bike had been crushed by a drunk driver while it was parked in the center of town, and there was no way the frame could be repaired. Thus it came to be that the new bike was bought to replace the old one; but it was clear which one was Cécile’s true love…

Cécile standing with Joey Chestnut, her all-time favourite bicycle.

She’d originally picked up the second-hand bicycle for her boyfriend, but when she started working as a bike courier in Paris, she started using it herself. Her bond with the bike grew over time, and eventually her boyfriend conceded that it should be hers.  One night at pub quiz, one of the questions was about who had won a certain hotdog eating competition, the answer to which was Joey Chestnut. Cécile’s boyfriend commented on how good a name this would be for the beloved bicycle, and just like that, Cécile’s wheels had a name.

A tattoo done in the style of a botanical drawing. Chestnuts to pay homage to her beloved bicycle.

Fast-forward through her courier days, a big cycling trip to Berlin and countless hours riding around the city… And now Cécile is mourning the loss of her faithful companion, so much so that she wanted to commemorate her sentiments for the bike with her first tattoo. Not wanting to do something too obvious, we settled on a twig from a chestnut tree, and went with a drawing I’d done to imitate the style of old-fashioned botanical drawings. It was a subtle and elegant allusion to the special bicycle.

Once we were done, we sat down in Cécile’s living room to relax and chat some more, and we got to talking about something else that stood out in the young woman’s apartment (aside from the cool wall art and the pretty bikes); namely a scattering of retro-looking dolls, one of which was perched up on a shelf in the kitchen, while another sat leaning against a pile of books. There was also a section of a doll house sitting somewhat conspicuously on the windowsill.

Tesla sitting in her own miniature living room. Dolls aren’t just for kids!

As it turns out, Cécile is one of those girls who, like so many others, used to play with dolls as a child. But where most of us have long since left our dolls behind – we’ve sold them in garage sales, tucked them away in time-capsules, or simply thrown them in the trash – Cécile found a way to keep dolls in her life even in her adult years. Most of us have seen the movie Amélie, in which a garden gnome is taken on flights around the world and photographed in front of iconic landmarks. And in the last decade, a lot of people have done something similar with their own inanimate companions; stuffed animals, figurines, puppets or whatever else they felt inclined to bring along in their carry-ons. Well, Cécile has been doing this all along; dolls were a part of her life as a child, and have continued to be so through the years, without interruption.

Gloria, on the right, with an old friend, October.

When she was a child, her favourite doll was a gymnastics Barbie that was a delight to play with because she was so flexible. At about age 18, Cécile gave her doll a series of botched-up haircuts, each one meant to correct the previous one, until finally the long blonde-haired Barbie was no more. Instead, the doll was given a new name to go with her new look; this was the birth of Gloria, and she was all punk with her dark eye makeup and her short, spiky green hair.

Sadly, on the ride home from a late night out when Cécile was in university, Gloria fell out of the rear pannier of her bicycle somewhere along the way and was never seen again… And just as Joey Chestnut would be replaced by a new bike later in Cécile’s life, so too did the loss of Gloria lead to the adoption of a new doll. The new doll wasn’t really new at all, though, as it had belonged to Cécile’s mother when she was a child. But Cécile made her all her own anyway, giving her a new look and even a new name: Tesla.

Once her mother’s doll, Tesla is now Cécile’s favourite little friend.

Since then, Tesla has been everywhere with Cécile. She’s had her own facebook account for almost a decade and has been photographed all over the place. As Cécile has pointed out, facebook and the internet in general are great tools when it comes to breathing life into a doll. Suddenly, via photos and status updates, inanimate objects (a bit like newborn babies or people’s pets) can be given fictitious personalities and express opinions and feelings, while in ‘real-life’ settings this would be impossible.

A few years ago, while surfing the net and looking for other people who incorporated dolls in their day-to-day life, Cécile came upon a doll named the ‘Traveling Man’ on a website called wearesmall.com. His owner is an American who was blogging about the Traveling Man’s adventures. Cécile promptly sent him a message to invite the doll to come to France for a while. She told his owner she’d take him around with her to visit the region, take some pictures, and then send news about the doll’s travels back along with the doll itself after the visit.

Tesla and the Traveling Man in Beijiing.

She brought the doll along with her (and Tesla, of course) to China, Indonesia, Spain, Belgium, the Netherlands, and all the way to Berlin on their long cycling trip. Through it all she kept in touch with the Traveling Man’s owner, who soon got the sense that Cécile was growing quite fond of her little guest. It’s now been two years since the Travelling Man first came to France, and it looks like he might be staying with Cécile for good.

She will be sending news to his former owner soon, however, despite the fact that it seems like he may have moved on. (There haven’t been any new blog posts for a while now…) For the Traveling Man went and got himself a tattoo from The Travelling Tattoo Artist, and that’s big news even for a little plastic guy!

The Traveling Man getting a tattoo from the Travelling Tattoo Artist.

Traveling Man showing off his new tattoo, with Tesla looking on.

A Tattoo Artist on the Camino

Just a few kilometers away from crossing into Spain, and a new phase of my journey.

In mid-October I crossed into Spain and shifted into pilgrim mode. For the next few weeks I would be following the Camino de Santiago de Compostela (The Way of St-James) which has been one of the most important Christian pilgrimages since the Middle Ages. I’m not a religious person, but since I was going to cross over to Spain’s west coast anyway, I thought it would be interesting to see what the Camino was all about.

It seems that making the journey is a growing trend; less than 700 people did it in 1985, but nowadays the number of pilgrims is closer to 200,000 per year. I’d heard a lot of stories from people who’ve done it (or parts of it), and the further south I moved into the Basque region of France, the more it came up in conversation. Naturally, I became convinced that passing up an opportunity to do the pilgrimage would be a mistake. So I got myself a credencial (pilgrim’s passport), crossed into Spain along the Atlantic coast, tied a large white seashell to one of my bags like an I.D. badge, and set off towards the west.

Just getting started…. Still a long way to go!

From the start I knew that my routine would be different for the duration of the pilgrimage. I wouldn’t be couch surfing or camping the way I’d done in the other countries I’ve cycled through since March. Instead I would be living like the rest of the pilgrims – travelling over large distances day after day, sharing evening meals with new acquaintances in the bustling common rooms of albergues, sleeping in crowded dormitories full of bunk-beds, and starting all over again at 7am the next morning. And since I’m sure pilgrims don’t expect to get tattooed while on the Camino, I knew that my activities as a tattoo artist would probably diminish significantly, if not disappear altogether for the duration of the journey. So I fell in with the rest the pilgrims, and focused on my day-to-day progression towards the west.

Moving ever further west every day… Most of the time I wasn’t on the same path as those who were walking, but we always met up in times of rest.

For about three weeks, I did what thousands of others have done on this journey over the centuries: I took in the scenery (a lot of it was breathtaking) and enjoyed discovering what the various Spanish landscapes, villages and cities have to offer. I followed the extensive network of yellow spray-painted arrows and innumerable seashell sculptures, plaques, tiles and signs, pushing through fatigue, pain and all kinds of weather to get to where I needed to go from one day to the next. I met people along the way with whom I almost instantly felt a strong connection, others who impressed me with their tales or personal histories, and yes, even a few who within minutes made it clear that you can’t always click with everyone you meet. I spent a lot of time alone on the road (nothing new there), and many an hour making small talk with new friends (guess I’ve done that once or twice before, too.) I worked on my Spanish speaking abilities, (which I’m happy to say got a bit better every day), and enjoyed interacting with the locals I met along the way, some of whom have been watching pilgrims walk through their towns their entire lives.

First tattoo of the camino, done in the common kitchen at an albergue.

About two thirds of the way in, I reverted into my role as The Travelling Tattoo Artist when I met a 27-year-old Italian pilgrim named Michele, who decided that this would be the day he got his first tattoo. He’d been thinking about it for a while, and he felt that meeting a tattoo artist on the Camino was a serendipitous encounter that he should make the most of. So in the morning, once all of the other pilgrims had left, we set up a little tattoo studio in the pilgrims’ kitchen and got to work on Michele’s piece.

Michele’s wolf tattoo.

After graduating from university three years ago, Michele immediately started travelling, and he’s been out discovering the world since. For two years he lived in Ethiopia, and now he’s walking the Camino; one can only guess what he’ll be doing next. And it’s his lifestyle that has inspired him to get a wolf’s head tattooed on his shoulder-blade. He feels that he shares some of the wolf’s traits – he’s a lone traveller at times, but he’s also a loyal companion in times when he’s not wandering in the world. After about an hour of work, Michele pulled his shirt back on, hefted his pack onto his back, gave me a warm hug and left the albergue, joining the stream of pilgrims walking across the mountainous Spanish landscape that day.

A few days later, I happened to be staying in the same albergue as a man I’d met a few days earlier, an Icelandic-Italian named Thorwald. One of the first things out of Thor’s mouth after we greeted one another was that he wanted me to give him a tattoo. Apparently he’d spent a bit of time walking with Michele along the way, and learning of his fresh ink motivated Thor to get some too.

Walking is a great way to really get to know the land and its people…

Thor is in his mid-forties, and he’s one of the more interesting people I’ve met on the camino. He’s been walking for 15 years, taking only brief breaks here and there to return home to see his family and record some music. He’s walked from Italy to Jerusalem, passing through Turkey, Syria and Jordan to get there, and on a separate journey he crossed the Sahara desert. On his longest trip, he spent eight months walking to the Gobi desert, and after living with a group of nomads in Mongolia for about a year and a half, took another eight months to walk back.

He hasn’t always led such an unconventional life. He has a degree in Physics and a second one in Mathematics, and until he was 30 years old, he was an engineer at CERN. But he’d felt that something was missing in his life, that he needed to make a change. In time, he turned his life completely around, and one day, he simply walked away from it… literally.

Thor, who has a phobia of needles, looking pretty pleased with his new tattoo.

And now here he was, ready to commemorate something that has been a big part of his life since he started walking across great expanses of land. For this was the eighth time he’d walked the Camino. He’s done the tough but picturesque Camino Norte along the north coast of Spain twice, and this was his sixth time walking the main route, the Camino Frances. So in the morning, before heading off, we set up in front of the albergue (we had to be out by 8:30am), and Thor got a tattoo of the red cross of Santiago, a symbol that can be seen everywhere along the Camino, along with the shells and yellow arrows.

Florian, working up the courage to leave with his two camino companions on the rainiest day of their entire journey.

A few days after that, I did a third tattoo, this time on a 19-year-old Swiss man named Florian. He’d seen me ride past him on the road earlier that day, and when we were introduced in the evening at a restaurant, he told me he’d been hoping we would end up in the same place so that he could get a tattoo. It’s like they say: “Whatever your needs, the Camino provides…”

When we first started chatting, he told me he had no idea what he wanted to get done. But with a bit of probing, it became clear that he’d indeed thought of a few options. One of them was a feather, to represent his travels, the way he goes with the wind, just floating along, following the currents and moving to wherever they lead him. Once again, I set up my equipment in a quiet corner of the albergue, and within two hours of our initial conversation after dinner, Florian was tattooed.

Florian’s feather tattoo; blowing wherever the wind takes him…

After a few more rainy days of mountainous riding, I arrived in Santiago on a clear, sunny Friday afternoon. And after a few celebratory snapshots in front of the cathedral, I headed for the Estrella de Santiago Albergue, where I would be staying with other pilgrims for a few days to rest and enjoy the city. Soon I got word from folks I’d met along the way that there were people looking for me. Word had spread among the pilgrims that there was a tattoo artist cycling the Camino, and some were on the lookout, hoping that our paths would cross so that they could get some work done before heading home. I got a few messages from pilgrims telling me that they would arrive in Santiago in a few days. So I settled in and made myself comfortable, and waited for them to arrive.

Celebrating fresh ink… Troy and Joe had been looking for me for two weeks when we finally met up in Santiago.

The Santiago shell as seen on the signs we’ve been following for weeks.

Before the week was through, I’d done six more tattoos. Most were related to the pilgrimage, but there were a few touch-ups of pre-existing tattoos too. And I wasn’t the only one who’d wielded a tattoo machine that week. A few people had fun tattooing oranges, including Martin, an artistically talented German pilgrim who’d cycled from Munich to the south of France and then walked the rest of the way. And when his ornately detailed orange was finished, he decided he was ready to step it up from tattooing fruit to tattooing human skin…

Martin’s practice run…

So for his first real tattoo experience, he sat hunched over his own leg, tattooing an infinity symbol on the top of his foot while I held a light on his work, guiding him through the process. It took almost two hours (these things take time!) but I’m pleased to report that it looked pretty good in the end! Oh, the stories he’ll have to tell, that one…

Joe’s tattoo (on his thigh): Finisterre, which will also be the name of the bar he’ll be opening in the near future.

After one week of tattoo fun, lovely strolls around the city, jovial communal dinners, late nights in local bars, traditional Galician music and goofy dance moves in nightclubs with an ever-changing group of pilgrims, it was time to say goodbye and move on. With less than one month in Europe before my return to Canada for the winter, it was time to make my next move and head for Finisterre, ‘the End of the Earth,’ where most pilgrims really end their journey… or where it all begins!

Walking some of the way with fellow pilgrims…

My route through Spain; 800km from San Sebastian to Santiago de Compostela.

Tattooed For the Love of Women

Being away from beloved family members and close friends for an extended period of time has a way of making you seek out ways to compensate and fill the void. For me, it means that I relish those rare and precious instant connections that I sometimes experience with people I meet along my travels. It also means that when an opportunity to spend time with someone else’s family presents itself, I’m all too happy to jump on board.

Étienne’s father’s old farmhouse in Labatut, half of which is used as a workshop and studio.

Such was the case this past weekend, when I enthusiastically accepted an invitation to accompany my Couchsurfing host, Étienne, on a visit to his father’s home in the village of Labatut, in the Basque region of the south of France. Étienne’s grandparents were coming down from Bordeaux for a weekend visit, and the family would be getting together for a Saturday lunch.

From Bayonne, it took an hour of driving through quaint villages and peaceful valleys, then along a silky winding river to get to the old farmhouse. As soon as we pulled into the driveway, and before I’d even met Étienne’s family, I was overcome with a sense of contentment and tranquility. This was exactly the kind of place and energy I’m drawn to, and I knew, instinctively, that it would be a lovely afternoon.

Sharing a meal with Étienne’s family, which I was all too happy to adopt for the day.

Étienne’s family didn’t disappoint. His grandparents were warm and cordial, with smiling eyes that sparkled as they recalled happy memories from the time they’d spent travelling in Quebec and other parts of Canada. His 18-year-old sister, Fannie, had a calm and inquisitive disposition, and a distinct sense of style that will only continue to bloom as she spreads her wings to take on the world. Étienne’s father, Françis, was as gracious a host as can be, and with the help of his girlfriend, Pascale, he busied himself bringing out a continuous flow of nibbles, dishes and drinks while his guests engaged in one stimulating conversation after another.

One of Françis’s creations, a bubble-blowing machine (which actually works!)

An ornament made with old hammers and red mini-lights.

After lunch, I had a tour of the old farmhouse, which his father had acquired a few years ago and has since been renovating. Françis is at once a collector of sorts, an inventor and a talented artist, as was clearly reflected in the decor. I was enchanted with all of the wonders that were hung or laid out throughout the place – a large collection of stickers taken from supermarket fruit and vegetables from all over the world; giant sculptures made from recycled parts taken from heavy machinery;  light fixtures and arrangements in an assortment of sizes and colours… Every corner offered an opportunity for surprise and discovery.

One of the many paintings of women that hang on the walls throughout the house.

There were also quite a few paintings on the walls, most of them big and bold and featuring voluptuous women in sexually suggestive poses. Françis doesn’t paint much these days, though. The paintings are from an earlier time in his creative life. And as much as they were able to make an impression on me that day, Étienne confessed that they had quite an effect on him too when he was growing up.

In fact, Étienne thinks these paintings may have played a significant role in the evolution of his own view of women. It was always clear that his father was attracted to the female form in all its natural beauty, and so not surprisingly (and not unlike many other boys out there), the son also developed a deep appreciation for a woman’s grace, suppleness and femininity.

The woman Étienne drew when he was a teenager; she would be the inspiration for his first tattoo.

During my visit, as it happens, Étienne pulled out a drawing he had done about a decade ago, when he was in his early teens; in it, a woman, nude, is standing with her back to the viewer, relaxed and natural, holding her long hair up with her hands. The drawing made it clear that he had inherited both his father’s artistic talent and his desire to capture a woman’s essence with a pencil or paintbrush.

Étienne’s homage to women, done on the left side of his torso.

But there is something more in his admiration of women that has blossomed in Étienne over the years. Experience, a keen sense of observation and perhaps a touch of intuition have led him to become particularly sensitive and respectful of the challenges, joys and subtleties of womanhood. He recognizes women’s essential roles as mothers, daughters, partners, and individuals within all spheres of society, and is able to see beauty in women of every shape and colour. And it is all of this (and more) that he wanted to capture in a tattoo that we would do before our time together was through.

Inspired by his childhood drawing, I designed the piece that would finally commemorate his love and admiration of women. And since Étienne wasn’t afraid to have a touch of feminine tattooed onto his body, we went went all out with a pretty dark-haired woman nestled in a bed of roses.

Étienne and his father Françis, relaxing the afternoon away at the old farmhouse.

It was with a heavy but warm heart that I left the old farmhouse in Labatut with Étienne on Sunday morning. (Unable to will ourselves to leave after that first lunch, we’d ended up staying for dinner and breakfast the following day, along with every other guest who had come to the house that day.) And the feeling was the same when it was time for me to leave Étienne and his lovely roommates in Bayonne the day after that. For as sad as I am that these wonderful encounters with genuinely kind people might ultimately be one-time events, I’m also grateful for the emotionally uplifting effect that such meetings have on me. At a time when I’m missing family and friends, wearing the same clothes I’ve worn over and over again for months, and living out of a few small bags… it sure is nice to feel appreciated for the woman I am, and to feel beautiful, inside and out.

Home is where the heart is… and it sure makes you want to stay longer when it’s warm and cozy there!

On Board With New Ink

While making my way down to Spain along the west coast of France, I stopped for a weekend in Les Sables-d’Olonne, a pretty beachfront town on the Atlantic ocean. It has a great little port, a lovely beach with soft, beige sand, and plenty of beachfront properties to accommodate the great swells of tourists that come through in the summer. It was a good time for me to visit; the water was still warm, and the beaches, which only weeks before had been covered with tanned torsos from the water’s edge to the congested street above, were now wide open and quiet.

David and Patrick preparing the inflatable paddle board.

I spent most of my time there with Patrick and David, two local guys who’d met a few years ago through their mutual passion for kite surfing, and who’d since become good friends.  Luckily, after riding through a few overcast days of misty rain and cooler weather, the sun had come out a few hours before I’d pulled into Les Sables-d’Olonne, and it would shine on through the weekend.

Patrick and me, ready to hit the waves!

On Saturday, David arrived with his stand-up paddle board, and we dropped by another friend’s place to borrow a second board (an inflatable one) before heading down to the beach for my first paddle board experience. I’d seen people using these boards before, smoothly gliding across the water’s surface, looking as serene as the gondoliers of Venice. Finally, I thought, a water sport I might actually be good at. But I was soon humbled when one attempt after another to simply remain standing for more than three seconds invariably ended with me tumbling into the salty water. Like so many other things in life, paddle boarding proved to be much harder than it looked…

After I’d had my share of unsuccessful attempts on the paddle board, I called it a day and joined David on the beach while Patrick continued to work the waves. As much as David would have loved being in the water too, he had to sit this one out – doctor’s orders. He was nursing a work injury that had been getting worse over the weeks, and doing any kind of water sports was definitely not the way to recover from tendinitis. So we sat in the sun and had a chat.

My first time trying the paddle board. I’m sure you can guess which one is Patrick, and which one is me…

David started windsurfing in 2005 when a friend of his let him try his board. He hadn’t done any water sports before then, and in fact only knew how to swim because he’d taken matters into his own hands and taught himself when he was 11 years old. But he’d always been drawn to the ocean, and so when he was given the opportunity to try windsurfing, he jumped on it. It’s a difficult sport and he wasn’t able to do much on his first time out, but that didn’t matter much; from that first day, David was hooked. He spent the winter saving up, and when spring arrived, he went out and bought himself a board.

David in action…

He spent most of his free time in the following years developing his skills, sometimes going out up to 70 times per season. In 2008, he also started to go paddle boarding, which only added to the time he spent out on the water. During his outings he met other windsurfers on the beaches of the region, of course, and over time they became an ever-closer group of friends. Today, they’re members of an association they created themselves: windsurf85.com, and their passion for the sport is as strong as ever.

David’s Polynesian-style stingray and sea turtle.

During our talk on the beach, David learned that I was a tattoo artist, and soon after that, I learned about a particular tattoo that he’d been thinking of getting for a while. He said that he’d long been attracted to stingrays; there was something about the way they moved, so gracefully, in slow, smooth movements, as though flying through the water. He’d also found some pretty examples of Polynesian-styled tattoos online that had really caught his eye. So before the weekend was over, we set up shop in his living room and I went to work on a tribal-inspired stingray & sea turtle design.

I’m really digging how this trip is going. Everywhere I go, I encounter people who are involved in a sub-culture of sorts, and very often the tattoos they get are closely related to that aspect of their lives. I’ve come across urban cyclists who got tattoos which are very specifically related to bike culture, Middle East activists who got tattoos of poppies and paisley patterns, and now a windsurfer who went with a Polynesian-styled tattoo…

What will come next? An olympic athlete looking to commemorate a big win? A war veteran trying to honour fallen combatants? A skateboarder? A firefighter? A modern-day vampire?… So many people out there, with such a variety of interests and identities. This journey of discovery really could go on forever…

Inked in a Forest of Legends

Brittany, a region of vast beauty with strong Celtic roots.

For the past two weeks I’ve been slowly making my way south through Brittany, a beautiful region which lies in the northwest part of France. The area, which was once Lesser Britain, is counted amongst the six remaining Celtic nations; in other words, it’s one of the last territories whose Celtic cultural traits and/or language are still alive today. As one might expect, it is a place brimming with history and a fair amount of legend, not to mention a plethora of breathtaking landscapes, beautifully preserved medieval villages and fairytale-worthy castles.

Le Tombeau de Merlin, in Brocéliande Forest.

Until recently, I was unaware that there are many locations in Brittany that are closely associated with the legend of King Arthur. Many believe, for instance, that the legendary forest Brocéliande is located there, though nowadays it is called Paimpont Forest. In this forest, next to the ruins of the Château de Comper, there is a large pond that is associated with the Lady of the Lake. A few kilometers from the castle, the remains of a dolmen are said to be Merlin‘s tomb. To the west, a path is believed to be Morgan le Fay‘s Val sans Retour (the Valley of No Return), where the powerful sorceress once imprisoned her lovers. Tristan and Iseult are also said to have lived in Brittany. And the list goes on…

Pierre and Enora dressed for a Steampunk-themed wedding. Photo by: Yoann Lossel

People from all corners of the world are drawn to this mythological place, from King Arthur enthusiasts, to modern pagans, to scholars and archaeologists. Some only come for a short visit, but there are also those who come to the area to stay. Such was the case for Pierre and Enora, a young couple who met online and quickly discovered that they shared a similar passion for all things Tolkien and Arthurian. Eventually, when they were ready to take the next step in their relationship, both moved away from their homes to find a place together. Given their mutual cultural interests it made perfect sense for them to move to Brocéliande. Today, they are married and living in a house in Paimpont Forest with their two sons, Taliesín and Ciarán.

One of the many gems of Brocéliande, Le Chêne des Hindres, a huge oak tree estimated to be half a millenium old…

It was a pleasure to stay with this lovely little family. By day I walked or cycled around the region, visiting the various sites that the area is known for. And by night, I was staying in a home replete with infusions of folklore and fantasy. The artwork on the walls depicted scenes from the legends, fantastical creatures of the forest and beautiful Celtic dames. Under my bed were drums fashioned out of wood and leather that looked like they’d been plucked right out of the Middle Ages.

When I commented on the theme of their home’s décor, my hosts explained that they’re a part of a troupe whose members combine performance art, theater and historical re-enactments to bring spectators into the world of fantasy, Arthurian legend, and even Middle Earth. The troupe participates in a number of festivals and other cultural events in Brittany, especially during the summer, when the majority of tourists flood into the region.

Pierre and Enora in their medieval attire; no detail is overlooked. Photo by: Christophe Gattuso

The troupe is called La Compagnie Grise and they’ve been perpetually developing their project since it all began in 2009. Over the years, the members have put in countless hours and spent hundreds of Euros to present increasingly elaborate productions. They have an ever-growing inventory of costumes, including leather and metal armour, weapons, tools, and other props and accessories. During the summer, they meet every week to practice complex choraeographies so as to deliver high-quality, high-energy (and credible) fighting scenes. In the winter, it’s time to focus more on the details; dresses are embellished with embroidery, breastplates are engraved with Celtic patterns, swords are forged and polished. New routines are developed and techniques are perfected.

Members of La Compagnie Grise re-enacting a medieval battle scene.

Pierre demonstrating how to make chain mail at one of the troupe’s events.

Everything they use during their activities is the ‘real deal’ – the leather, the sheep skins, the steel, the silk – everything is as authentic as can be. They don’t use anything that is mass-produced, cheap imitations, or even wigs; every inch of their hair and beards is natural. And whenever they can, the troupe’s members make everything themselves. As a result of their devotion and their attention to detail, their audiences are enraptured and transported to places that only exist within the realm of our imaginations… All of this La Compagnie Grise does for the love of it; it’s a lifestyle for them. Though they generally do receive remuneration for their performances, I believe the moderate sums they receive are far from being the leading incentive for the company.

A medieval camp set up by La Compagnie Grise. Spectators are invited to interact with members of the troupe, who remain in character for the entire duration of the event.

Now, as it turns out, Enora has another passion, and this is one that she doesn’t share with her husband – I’m talking about tattoos, of course! She already has a number of them, and not surprisingly has plans for more. Eventually she’d like to have a long vine of ivy that wraps around her leg and climbs up the side of her body to reach her shoulders and upper back.

Enora’s back piece, which she wanted to extend over her shoulder and onto her chest.

The challenge: to cover up this old tribal dragon tattoo.

But like so many other people out there, she got a few tattoos done when she was quite young that are now clashing with the newer, more refined tattoos that she’s had done more recently. It’s a common enough situation that is untroubling to some, but extremely bothersome to others. For Enora, it was something she wanted to deal with before moving forward with her ivy project. And so this is how I came to be entrusted with the task of covering up a fairly large tribal dragon that she had on her chest, just above her heart.

Enora wanted to extend the tattoo she had on her back, bringing it up and over her shoulder, and down to where the dragon was now. Her back piece was an image her friend had drawn for her, of a fantastical squirrel-like creature perched amid the branches of an oak tree. After a bit of consideration, I decided to cover the tribal dragon with a second little creature, this one a darker, baby version of the one she had on her back. Enora was happy with the plan, and away we went, turning her kitchen into a tattoo studio, and proceeding to transform her old dragon into a furry little critter.

A successful cover-up, thanks to a bushy tail and a few well placed leaves.

A few hours later, our dragon was gone, hidden under the bushy tail of our cute little squirrel-like friend. Now there’s more cohesion between the tattoos Enora has on her upper body, and she doesn’t have to see an old faded tribal tattoo every time she looks in a mirror…

I must say I really enjoy doing cover-ups. In some ways I find it even more rewarding than doing a new tattoo on a ‘clean’ piece of skin. Of course, it’s always nice to see someone smile about a new tattoo. But there’s something extra special about seeing someone becoming lighter, in a sense, as a cover-up process moves forward. When the work is done, not only are people happy with the new ink, but you can also sense that they feel relieved that the old one is gone…

Pierre and Enora with their sons, Taliesín and Ciarán.

And so now I’ve left Enora in her medieval-inspired life with a new fantasy-inspired tattoo. It was great to spend time with people who are so knowledgeable and fascinated with historical figures, cultures and customs, and who like to dress up as much as I do! There’s no doubt that if I were ever to move to Brocéliande, I’d waste no time getting involved with La Compagnie Grise; what they do is certainly my cup of tea. And coming from a background of French-Canadian traditional dancing, you can bet your favourite dagger that before season’s end, I’d have them all bowing to their partners… 😉

*Check out this video and see La Compagnie Grise in action with several other troupes from different areas during a festival at the Château Comper in Paimpont Forest.