The Tear of Europe
I’ve become a River fan.
The whole river metaphor has played out strong for me in 2025. From pain management (a non life-threatening surgical procedure), to the ole ‘going with the flow’.
The first time I took notice about rivers was thanks to a story from a woman from Rarotonga (Cook Islands), an activist from Papua New Guinea and a law passed in Aotearoa (New Zealand).
I learned the Whanganui River was granted personhood in 2017. It is considered sacred. “I am the river, and the river is me”.
Sharing those very words with someone led to an invitation which started my current chapter.
But – BUT, it was here, by the shores of Rio Tara, an 80km river known as the Tear of Europe, it happened.
I took a day off from my work schedule to ‘regroup’. I’d been away from the Balkans for 8 months. Too long. Another serendipitous invitation on this trip changed my course and thinking. I realised I’d begun to settle again… stagnate. Dried up.
What follows, in these notes, is an account of my drive time and thought time, following the course of the Tara River for the most part. The people I met: monks and beekepers, artists, farmers, mountaineers, custodians of the land. People I admire. Some on a different frequency – too different for me.
I also listened to Anne Lamott narrate Bird By Bird, her book on writing.
I’ve neglected the pen a little too long. Through my drives, I replayed stories. Stories celebrating and challenging this region. This region I love. This region I sprang from. This region I hope to live long, enjoy and ultimately die (quite happy) in.