I was back in France – my favourite country in the whole world. Im unapologetic about that statement. Ive felt that way my whole life but could never really explain why. My dad was born in Madagascar (a french colony at the time) to my nan who was born in Algeria and my grandad who is from Brittany. This blood line plays a part in my affection to France and is a big reason why its so difficult to explain why I feel so at home there. As a kid we would drive to visit my grandparents and I distinctly remember the moments driving off the ferry feeling ‘better’. I felt this feeling again crossing the swiss border in my van although in the back of my mind I knew I was getting closer to going home and my trip being over. I had no real plan other than to get to Paris – there were people to play there and plus it was a good excuse not to drive so much (because of the whole no insurance no tax and no MOT thing).
En route (french for ‘on the way’) whilst I was cooking up some ‘International friendlies’ In the carpark of a gigantic Carefour I realised I would be passing back through Troyes and so I fired off a text to Abel to see if he fancied a match for the project. “Tom! what the fuck is an international friendly?!?!” Calm down babies, ill explain. An international friendly is a delightful delicacy invented by myself and Tom West in the Tyrolean hills. It consists of some sort of smoked sausage (Käsekrainer) a flavoured mayonnaise and a semmel (Austrain crusty roll). You simply tear apart the semmel into pieces and open them up like a tiny sandwhich, place a little dollop of your flavoured mayo and then cut the sausage in to pound coin slices and fry them. Once this is done, place your sausage in to your tiny sandwiches atop the mayo and enjoy. The pretentious cousin of a hot dog if you will *chefs kiss* you’re welcome.
When I woke up the next morning I was taking it slow, as you must after a night on the friendlies, when I received a text back from Abel, the tone of which, once again, resembled that of a video game boss : Hi Tom, I have just found a good player for you (I cant play against you because, unfortunately, I got injured…) Can you play this afternoon at 15h30?.
It was midday at this point and I was 3 hours away from Troyes. I packed up quick jumped in the van and with a belly full of las nights friendlies hit the road. I arrived 15 minutes before my match and all I really remember was that it was hot. I wondered around the club, unsure of who I was looking for, when Alexis introduced himself to me. He was excited about the match and told me we would be playing outside today. Troyes was preparing for for their annual ATP challenger tour event and so the temporary stands were up around the main courts we were playing on.
During the warm up there was a noticeable amount of flies, not big ones, but those ones that hover in swarms during British summers near smelly rivers. Alexis told me he had to cancel the coaching this morning because of the flies, as he saw me swatting them away and spitting them out of my mouth, and offered to stop the match. The flies intensified (intensiflied) and in-between points balls would go from yellow to fully black, drenched in flies. Im sure if you read this blog you know i’m a story teller and I never let the truth get in the way of a good story but i’m not joking when I say: there were SO MANY FLIES! I didn’t want to stop though – if I lost I could blame it on the flies. I lost, it was the flies fault.
Coming off court I realised I felt lonely for the first time on this trip, It wasn’t that the novelty had worn off it was just that what I was doing had become normal. I couldn’t help but think about the first time I came to this club nearly 3 months ago and the rush of adrenaline and complete excitement that overcame me after my match with Marie-Anne, to now, knowing that I had to go find another lake to wash in and another car park to sleep in, alone. The van is amazing but after nearly three months on the road I started to feel like a lonely sardine in a sensory deprivation tank.
The next morning, after washing my clothes outside an Intermarche, I made my way to Paris. Paris was hot, I played, I lost, I spilled Bahn mi juice all down my trousers. All I really remember from those few days in the city of love is: I was tired and it was hot. I don’t like being hot – you can always put layers on but you cant take layers of skin off – annoyingly.
It was over in a flash and before I knew it I was in Brittany for the final few days of the Van Am tour.
Waking up on the last day my record stood at 13 wins and 13 losses. obviously I couldn’t let it end like that. My ferry was at 11.30pm giving me a full day to find a match and see if I could win this whole thing. Although I had become completely comfortable with walking in to these clubs and finding matches it didnt mean that it always worked and on this particular day I couldnt find a match for shit. Every club was either closed or no-one was about, strange considering it was a beautiful day out.
Tennis club de Caen was last on my list – it was this or my whole project was gonna end in a massive anti climax. As you can probably tell I was fixated on constructing this ending at this point, I had convinced myself this is the only way I could round up the trip and make sense of everything I had just done for the last 3 months. I headed to reception, explained the project and waited through that uncomfortable silence I had become accustomed to before he replied ‘there are some juniors coming in for a match at 2 o’clock I will ask them. I sat there waiting, eating a mars bar. Thats when victor walked in and the receptionist explained my project to him – he was shy and his friends giggled egging him on to play ‘pourquoi pas’ he muttered. yes! We headed to court and played our match – his friends watching from the glass in reception. I went 3-0 up, holy shit im gonna do it, Im gonna win this whole thing but alas he warmed in to the match and took the next 6 games. That was it, it was over, the last tennis I was going to play on this trip had been played. A surreal feeling really – its all id known for the past three months – what happens now? A shower is the answer to that (a cold one because the showers at the club were broke) and then back to the van.
Although I felt somewhat accomplished I had this overwhelming sense of dissatisfaction with the ending, not because I lost, god knows i’m used to that at this point, but because I couldn’t find the lesson in it all. Was the lesson that losing is ok? no (because losing is not ok) was the lesson to be proud of what I had done? no, Was it to inform your insurer before you travel abroad to make sure you’re covered? that cant be the only lesson from everything I had done? surely! I had time to kill before my ferry and so, deflated, I drove to the port to kill some time, buy cheese for friends and that.
As im driving I notice on google maps a cluster of 6 clay courts – nothing unusual – Id seen this a million times at this point but I saw I would be driving right past it. I need to make it clear I had no intention to play tennis at this point but as the entrance approached my hands took over and I pulled in to the car park. Typically when I arrive at these clubs I usually put my tennis stuff on and grab my tennis bag so that I dont looks k completely fucking mental walking in there, this time I didn’t. I strolled in with no intentions to play but just to walk around and kill some time. I was greeted almost immediately by a little french lady who asked me what I was doing. I explained my project to her (for the first time in the past tense) and she was very intrigued.
“so do you live in your van?’ she asked
“yes” I said
“Guess what..” she said “so do I”
She gestures for me to follow her and it turns out she lives on grounds of the club with her husband who is also the grounds keeper! She showed me her van and then around the club and offered me beers and snacks and even a shower if I needed one (she fully got it) . Her husband then came over and I showed them both my van. They couldnt believe how small it was and we made jokes about going to the toilet and smelly tennis trainers. We spent the rest of the evening chatting, smoking cigarettes, and eating crips outside the beautiful Longères club house on what felt like the most beautiful evening of the whole trip, the sun was setting, the air was still and the company was ten out of ten. The evening ended with hugs from Veronica and Fabian who told me I must come back and I was welcome anytime. This was it. This was the ending and this was the lesson. In true universe fashion at the very last moment the dissatisfaction from my self constructed ending dissipated and I was reminded this project was never about tennis it was about people. Tennis was just the glue that held it together. I drove to the ferry grabbed myself some Leffes sat outside on the deck and got absolutely tanked listening to music smoking more ciggys and thinking about everything I had just experienced.
Listen, I could harp on about all the memories, all the people and all the adventures and one day I will have a proper ‘reflection erection’ but truly what I want to say is this. You can do it man. Whatever you’re thinking about doing, whatever wierd and wonderful idea you have in the back of your mind what ever obstacle you want to overcome come. You can do it. I mean it. There are 4 things I’ve learnt from the last 3 years of my life and the rules I try to remember as often as I can. I’ve been reluctant to share these publicly but ultimately I truly have gone through some shit and I’ve realised that so many of us do so here they are.
Number 1 – friends and family over everything. (This comes first because, as I said: over everything) keeping this in mind can help put a lot of other things in perspective.
Number 2 – life is supposed to be hard. I think I was always under the impression that there would be some holy grail of freedom if certain things went a certain way. however, I’ve realised that accepting that it’s supposed to be hard makes everything easier – ironically
Number 3 – let go. I truly believe that a lot of pain is routed in resistance. The need to control and take charge. The truth is: any form of control we might think we have is an illusion. Let it go, keep moving.
And bonus number 4 – love yourself. I don’t mean this in some ‘I’m the fucking best’ type shit I mean it in the sense of being kind to yourself. Treat yourself the way you would treat a kid you were looking after. Sleep when you need to, do the things that fill you up, accept your flaws and learn to love them. The route of everything comes from number four. Watch the world change in front of your eyes when you truly tap in to it.
Anyway I’m just an average guy so please don’t take these as gospel just know that I share this only to help even one person.
For now the trip is done but the project is not over. Wherever I go I will keep a hand full of badges in my tennis bag, some scorecards and a charged gopro. To everyone who was a part of this trip, however big or small, Thankyou from the bottom of my heart.
see you on court.
Tom
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