Life in the Pyrenees

Silvia had the intuition to find an apartment in an old converted barn. We had an absolutely splendid view over the entire Garonne Valley, to the point that some mornings, we could see the Pyrenees mountain range. Already, the Pyrenees were calling us.

You mentioned that you experienced stress. Can you tell us about that and the choices you made in your life at that time?

You can think you’re doing everything right, but at some point, your body will respond negatively. In 2012, there was a whole way of life that meant there was stress, and without me realising it at the time, my body was reacting. My role in theatre was exciting, but it meant a lot of work, staying up late and having drinks. I am an early riser, so the nights are short, and there’s no nap, no rest.

We were very young. We got married when I was 18 and Bruno was 20. So, at the time, we were both minors. We got married because we were expecting a baby that was not planned. This was before abortion was legalised, so marriage was the only avenue available to us. Faced with limited options and societal pressures, we wed quickly, assuming responsibility for a family while navigating our educational and career paths.

I [Bruno] sought employment at a café-theatre in Bordeaux, where I was initially hired to imitate the mayor of Bordeaux at the time, Jacques Chaban-Delmas. This endeavour led me to explore my talents further, as I also utilised my woodworking skills to construct sets for the theatre during the day and perform in the evenings. Despite this work’s creative fulfilment, the inherent instability of contract-based employment and the interpersonal challenges within the theatre environment added layers of stress to our already complex situation.
The constant need to secure new contracts and the confrontational nature of theatre work took a toll on me, particularly as someone who was not naturally outgoing and often found myself at odds with colleagues and directors.

Have your choices been influenced by a specific event?

In the following months, after these various issues of stress and poor lifestyle, I found myself unable to use my hands properly—they were practically immobilised. The pain had started gradually, with occasional discomfort in my wrists. When I consulted a rheumatologist, they were puzzled by my condition, admitting they had never seen anything like it. Around the same time, my wife and I were involved in a summer project to build an eco-friendly home. However, my symptoms worsened rapidly after that, making simple tasks like gripping objects or driving impossible.

The diagnosis was potentially rheumatoid arthritis in my wrists to the point where there was virtually no cartilage left, leaving bone to grind against bone. The prognosis was equally bleak—no possibility of cartilage regeneration and a future without relief from the pain.

This news was devastating, especially considering my active lifestyle and the joy I found in hands-on activities like woodworking and painting. It plunged me into a deep depression, to the point where I even considered ending my life. There is a particular moment I remember well: while on a hike with Sylvia and our daughter, these very devestating emotions were drowning me. However, I looked over to my daughter, and I saw the joy and life in her. Thankfully, this reminded me of the importance of persevering for the sake of my family. Despite the overwhelming challenges posed by my condition, the love and support of my loved ones ultimately saved me.

Then, one of our friends, who used to make fun of us for being vegetarians, came to us and told us that he had gone from being a carnivore to being vegan. He recommended we watch a video by Irène Grosjean, a 90-year-old naturopath who advocates raw food, among other things. We decided to try it because everything we had learned so far hadn’t worked out. However, Bruno experienced severe effects in his body that left him weak. After consulting with a doctor and undergoing tests, he was hospitalised for ten days, but nothing was found.

I [Bruno] decided that if I had to die, I would not die in the hospital. I went home and gradually sought help again. I consulted two magnetisers, but they could not help me, and I was sent back to the emergency room.

His weight dropped to 45 kilos in the summer. We did not allow his mother to visit him for three months as it would have frightened her too much.

Friends came to support me, and many thought that I would pass away. I also interestingly found myself asking for forgiveness from people with whom I thought conflict had occurred. It was as though my body and soul needed healing.

Gradually, with the help of Irène Grosjean’s work, the naturopath’s phone calls every night, some herbs and plants, and other incredible and very simple treatments, such as hot or cold water, castor oil, poultices, and so on, my energy returned to me. Little by little, I could feel my hands again. I could open jars, drive and shift gears.

It was a very slow and steady process. Frankly, we did not care much about the possible diagnosis; we felt that since nobody was able to diagnose or cure me, I had the power and possibility to do so myself, which I did.

How did nature and the people around you help with your recovery?

Sylvia and I, aged 69 and 71, have found ourselves leaning on each other and our instincts for support and recovery. As we age, conventional wisdom often dictates an inevitable reliance on medication to address the body’s signals of distress. However, we’ve chosen to approach our health differently. We’ve listened closely to our bodies and avoided aggressive treatments favouring more holistic approaches.

Sylvia, in particular, has been a pillar of support for me. Her unwavering encouragement has been instrumental in guiding me through this journey. I vividly recall her gentle nudges towards healthier eating habits and her consistent belief in our ability to overcome any obstacles together. There were moments when Sylvia had to decide on my behalf and take the lead in what we would do next. She was unbelievable in that strength.

Generally speaking, we don’t go to supermarkets anymore. We’ve never been there in particular, but now, we don’t go there at all. We help ourselves in a bulk grocery store. So that means no containers. We are doing our part of hummingbirding. We compost properly, so that means eating raw as much as possible. We eat produce from our garden, but the garden, of course, is not permanent. This means it will begin and end seasonally, as all things should. Spring arrives in eight or fifteen days, so the leaves appear, you can smell the grass and see the buds grow on trees. We try to go as far as possible towards wild plants like dandelions and nettles. There are plenty of plants whose virtues we are unaware of and do not yet use. I try to graft (insert a shoot or twig) wild trees with fruit trees. We are almost in the woods; the trees are very close to the house, and there are walnut, cherry, wild plum and hazel trees.

Nature is generous in this regard. So, I consider what I can put in place to be as close as possible to nature. I maintain the soil by cultivating it with hay, for example. I learned this process from a book called ‘Le Potager du Paresseux’ (The Sloth’s Vegetable Garden) by Didier Helmstetter, an agronomist who had a heart attack and couldn’t physically move the earth anymore. He questions whether there was any point in stirring up the earth. So I try to disturb the ground as little as possible and allow the food to come naturally, respecting the seasons and the earth’s natural cycles of life.

You mentioned Bruno: “If you can’t change the world …?” Please tell us about that saying and what it means to you, but also as inspiration for how we can live on this planet.

“If you can’t change the world, let’s ensure that the world does not change you.” It’s a quote that was taken up, I think, by a circus company, Cirque Plume, which has stopped now.

It means not placing yourself at the centre of the world. It’s a small part, like a hummingbird, tiny yet significant.

In our garden, we have a bathtub, which is an important element of our well-being and health. In the middle of winter, I sometimes get into the bathtub early in the morning, with the requirement to prepare myself first. That means meditation, gymnastics, bathing and, after the bath, more gymnastics to warm up my body. For half an hour, I tremble, but that is a natural physical reaction to compensate for the cold. This is a great exercise of discipline that I have worked into my daily routine.

We have learned to take our time. Through my health difficulties and our moving, we have learned that tending to our bodies and the land around us is important in living with care and joy.

This province is small and special, and it has shown us that nature is stronger than us. It is ahead of us and surprises us with its cyclical endurance. It imposes goodness, joy, generosity, and anger in all its manifestations.