As the sunlight streams through our uncovered windows, we slowly awake to a new day in Sigean.  Downstairs, a simple breakfast of cornflakes, baguettes and coffee awaits us with unnoted monotony.  Those assigned to prepare breakfast have long since been up and to the local boulangerie, where our daily order of ten baguettes awaited.

Dressed in jeans, t-shirts and caps, the lot of us stream between the dining room and front steps, filling up on the “fabulous” French cuisine, our sustainer for the morning.  Though many of us are still tired from the late-night laughter and fun, we slowly make our way down to “La Rue des Fontaines,” no more than twenty paces from our doorstep.  

As I arrive, I see that Ahson, the native Pakistani boy, is already covered with dust and sweat.  He has clearly been carrying stones for at least an hour now.  Ahson’s eagerness to work always drives him to begin his day long before the rest of us.  The same work ethic will keep him tending to our street long after we have retired for the day.

Joining Ahson, I decide to grab a hoe and work at digging up the middle path, picking up from where I left off the day before.  Slamming our tools into the ungiving rocks and dirt, Cecilie, Joe and I work to free the path of all burdens.  Our plan is to put in new cobblestones, as the old, deeply entwined in the roots of the plants that used to cover them, are no longer presentable.

For the next hour or so, my heart is set on loosening up the path.  All around me, my fellow volunteers work at various jobs, improving our little street right in front of our eyes.  With bits of Italian heard here, and some German heard there, everyone does their best to accomplish our task.  At the side wall, Ezgi, Silvia and Can scraped away crumbling rock from between the stones.  Following closely behind them, Lucille and Jenni fill in the now-empty spaces with fresh cement.  Stéphanie and Jean-François are preoccupied with gathering fresh, moist dirt from a small cave beside the road.  At the fountain, Ferda and Catarina rub off the rust left from ages of use.  Julian and Franzi keep themselves busy carrying rocks to Utku and Marion.  Seated behind the fountain, they replace the old stones, trying to find the perfect harmony in shape, color and size.  Patrick unloads heaps of cement from his wheelbarrow, then returns to the barn yard to mix some more.  All the while, Bruno watches on and keeps us in line.

Throughout the morning, various villagers come and go, both appreciative of our work and annoyed by the ruckus.  By ten o’clock, we are more than ready for a short break.  Munching on a rustic baguette and melted milk chocolate, we lie down and welcome the long awaited rest.  In the heat of the morning, cool water could not taste any better.  While this is nice, after fifteen minutes we are rejuvenated and ready to once again commence our work.  As Jenni and Franzi head up to the house, for it is their turn to prepare lunch, the rest of us return to work.

Back on our path, Cecilie and I begin to dig again, only to be stopped by some solid matter in the ground.  With careful hands, we brush away the cold dirt to uncover a piece of pottery, shimmering blue on one side and clay-brown on the other.  Ecstatic about our finding, the two of us rush to sweep away more dust, only imagining what it could be.  Slowly but surely, we come across all sorts of treasures, including pieces of pottery and bone.  Amazed, we conclude that this used to be a sort of dumpster, as remnants of trash and broken bowls and vases fill up the space.  For the rest of the morning, we continue to clear the middle pathway, but this time by hand, carefully removing the treasures so that we can examine them later.  Tomorrow, we will start filling the path with cement and callade, so we must remove all that we can today.  Working to the sound of hammers and a multitude of languages, we work the morning away.

As the sun makes its way over the neighboring house, we know that lunch time, and thus the end of our work day, is fast approaching.  Our own crowd starts dwindling as people slowly begin to return home, each determining on his own that his day’s work is complete.  Sticking around to clean up the various pairs of goggles and tools, Ahson and I are the last to retreat.  Our street is coming along.  The sun is now in full force, beating down on both the old and new callade, meshed together in a hopefully unnoticeable pattern.

And so goes our work day.  A couple of people will return to the road after lunch, but most of us will enjoy the culture of our small, French town.  We will teach each other phrases of our home languages, play cards with the local French children, visit the mediateque to check out books and e-mail our families, and enjoy the concerts put on almost every night, followed by our nightly visit to “La Rotande,” the corner bar.  In the time both during our work and after, the mixture of culture teaches us true understanding and appreciation of each other. 

Volunteerism brings people together.  It allows people who may not otherwise acknowledge each other to work as one for the good of a common cause.  It brings people from opposite sides of the globe together to share knowledge and culture.  In such a close environment, understanding is essential and becomes the only option.  With understanding, trust and a common goal, the group of volunteers becomes a community, working together as one.