France Saga - Part II

Sunday, August 6:
The final drive from the hotel to Catherine’s brother’s house in France wasn’t any better, so my mood was less then cheerful upon arrival. It only took about 20 minutes for that to change, though, once I became reacquainted with Catherine’s Parents, brother and sister-in-law (David and Ann, Richard and Nicola). We all had a wonderful meal together and I was quickly reminded why I was so excited to spend this time with them all. Catherine and Jonathan went to our house earlier to unpack and get things in order, but it wasn’t until later that evening that I saw it for the first time. The house is one of many in a complex of holiday homes, all beige stucco with terra cotta roofs and brightly colored shutters, right in the middle of a charming old town called Talmont St. Hilaire, which has an old church whose bell rings out often throughout the day. The house is comfortable, roomy, with a décor that’s a cross between nautical and Mardi Gras, a canopied patio beside the pool and an ample backyard. My room is one of four on the upper floor; one blue, one green, mine, the purple room and one with a locked door. There are two bedrooms downstairs too, which is where everyone except Henry and I sleep. The room he’s in beside mine has an extra bed and the third bedroom has a double bed and a single bed that aren’t even being used. This morning was so pleasant and relaxed, giving me the opportunity to hop on the big round air mattress in my tank top and capris, sprawl out on my back with my feet in the water and float in the pool for a while before the boys had a chance to suit up and jump in; I was absolutely soaking it up as the weather started out beautiful and hot and remained that way throughout the day. The rest of the family joined us in the afternoon and we all sunbathed, swam and chatted amongst ourselves contentedly until they left in the early evening. Before dinner, we gathered the kids in the car so Jonathan and Catherine could take me for a preview of the ocean; what a wonderful day. This evening, as I sat reclined on a beach chair on the deck with a mug of hot chocolate, listening to the crickets and watching the moon become more and more vivid against the backdrop of the darkening sky, I thought of home for a moment to see if I could locate an ounce of longing; I found none.

Monday, August 7:
Last night, just before bed, while reading to Henry (he couldn’t sleep), the sound of fireworks interrupted the hijinks of Horrid Henry (the character) and prompted Catherine to come upstairs to see who was awake to view it. The next 20 minutes was spent sitting on the edge of the couch in my darkened bedroom staring out my wide open window watching an impressive fireworks display, hailing from the ruins of Talmont Castle, between the glowing silhouettes of Catherine and Henry. There was apparently some kind of an annual celebration going on and the sounds of laughter and cheering easily crossed the distance between us. It was quite a moment.

Today we went to Atlantic Toboggan; a water park about an hour and a half from where we’re staying. Unfortunately, though, because of some ridiculous traffic and a few missed turn offs, it took us twice as long to get there. Ah France, the land of traffic circles. My eyes were burning all day, but not from the sun, from the minion’s of Speedo wedgies I was forced to lay my eyes on; Richard included. Most of the men wear them, but if you ask me: fit or fat, smooth or hairy, it’s just not attractive. My message to all European men: just because women like to accentuate their bits doesn’t mean you have to.

Another lovely evening: dinner on the patio with Ann and David, tea and cake for dessert while the boys ran around the backyard playing, and reading My Utmost For His Highest with my hot chocolate underneath an outdoor light as the moon did not provide sufficient illumination. I’m truly ashamed of myself for feeling even a moment of self-pity at not being able to go to Osoyoos this year with my family. Just like I did in Africa, I’ve had to remind myself bi-hourly that I’m actually here. Don’t get me wrong, I love it in Osoyoos and I wouldn’t trade the time I’ve spent there for anything, but let me tell you, after 24 years of having "holidays" be characterized by a tent and public toilets, I could really get used to this.

France Saga - Part I

"We left for France about a ½ hour ago. I have to admit, for all the excitement I’ve felt in the past about coming here, I’m feeling a little down this morning. I think because I am such a headstrong, stubborn person (who doesn’t like being told what to do), the obligations of this arrangement are beginning to wear on me a bit. The fact that my time is not my own is a slight inconvenience. Usually, when you’re at work, you’re working and when you’re at home, that time is yours. Well, that’s not the case here; I do have roughly set hours, but there’s no distinction between work and home."

"We’ve just arrived in France after a 25 minute journey by train through the Euro Tunnel. It was strange not being able to see out at all, but feeling the pressure in my ears from being under water. I just saw a sign to Paris and was overwhelmed with a feeling of frustration at being in France without the opportunity to go to Paris. Here is my first impression of France:
Yellow sun-baked hills and fields spotted with patches of lush, green trees, houses and large white turbines turning with a weighted ease and overlooking the countryside with a personified regality and importance. The motorway is alternatively lined with corn fields and harvested hay fields; their round bales overlapping eachother hurriedly as we rush past. Cows and other livestock litter the surroundings, tails swaying as they graze contently. The blue behind the clouds is sparsely seen and the air cool, but the west coast should greet us clear and warm."

"En route to the Chateau, we drove through a city called Rouen and went over the River Seine, just catching a quick view of the incredible Cathedral Notre Dame as we traveled through. When we finally got off the motorway, I was so taken by the authenticity of the town streets, with their old, rough, flat-faced, beige stone store fronts and the remnants of barns and stables; all that’s left being wood skeletons with partial brick walls. A romanticized ideal of a place or otherwise is seldom realized, but in this case, I felt as though I was driving through a movie set; as if someone had taken it right out of a dream. My frustrations about not seeing Paris subsided significantly with the realization that I was seeing France in all its organic, historic, charming glory. When we first arrived at the Chateau, I was too wound up to really take pleasure in my surroundings. Call it cabin fever; being trapped in the car with those four boys for the majority of the day (imagine, on a couple occasions: Henry and Edward fighting in the back, William screaming and Tom having a fit over some desired object) was a little like being a zookeeper in a cage full of monkeys; I’m so glad I had my classical music to retreat to. My stress level didn’t improve initially with the reminder that I would be sharing a rather small bedroom with the three oldest boys. I’ll be honest, at that point, I just wanted it to be morning. However, after sitting for a bit with my legs in the pool taking pictures of the Potter’s (and hollering at Catherine when Tom waded into the deep end behind her and began flailing) and going for a lovely stroll through the forest before dinner, my mood took on a completely different shape and color. The chateau (an old, converted estate) and grounds are beautiful; complete with pool, restaurant, tennis courts and driving range. The main floor has a series of partially segregated sitting rooms with full, brown leather armchairs and couches, decorated with an old world, rich feel, and made to feel cozy and warm. The ground floor also has the restaurant, which is where we ate dinner. What an incredible meal; €25 was the least expensive selection and included a main course and dessert. When I brought Henry and Edward up after dinner to get them ready for bed, I started to look forward to our little slumber party and as I lay here writing now with my three boys in bed (one sleeping, two resting quietly), I don’t remember what I was worried about; I guess it could be the possibility of being woken up at 6:00am by a small child jumping on my head, but we’ll see. One thing I did thoroughly enjoy about this arrangement was reading them Beauty & The Beast, playing each part with gusto and emotion, using every opportunity to be over-dramatic: ""You can’t die," sobbed Belle, "I, I love you.""; then singing them Disney songs quietly on their bed for the last 10 minutes of pre-sleep activities. Oh, just lost another one; my dear Edward was just seen picking up and dropping Tom’s newly deadened arm. The air that’s coming in through my window smells like damp leaves; I can’t believe how fortunate I am."

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"Sleep was sporadic as I’m a light sleeper and being responsible for the boys made me aware of their every move. Each woke up once in the order they fell asleep: Henry with a complaint that it was too dark, Tom just rolled around a bit before falling back to sleep in the opposite direction and Edward after falling out of bed. Although, he sat there with a confused look on his face, said not a word, and laid back down to sleep the second I lifted him back into bed, so I don’t think he was ever really awake. France is more beautiful then I could ever have expected; ever house, stable, building, is worthy of a portrait. I could have filled a photo album with pictures taken just within the five minute drive from the chateau to the motorway. This is the first true experience I’ve had with a language barrier. Since we’re away from the real touristy areas, very few signs have English translations; my gosh, it’s frustrating. My grade 8 French just isn’t doing it for me. Yesterday, when we were ordering dinner, Jonathan and Catherine placed their order and then looked to me. I had been staring at the menu for the last 5 minutes picking out familiar words and knew enough to know they’d ordered the beef; so not wanting to cause a delay, I just replied "I’ll have the same" and when choosing my dessert, simply pointed and said "That one please." I didn’t dare try and pronounce anything for fear of making an ass of myself. It felt rude, but what could I do? I also realized halfway through the meal that I was using the starter utensils; how very cultured I am."

A Shiver and a Show

This past week or so, Cheryl and I have been trying to figure out the best way to get through Ireland; which has been a little bit of a struggle. It’s always easier when you’re actually there, so we had decided to just wing it once we arrived. That was until I came across a fabulous alternative solution, which I am ridiculously excited about it: Paddy Wagon Tours. It leaves the morning after we arrive in Dublin and brings us back the evening of the third day. The great thing about this is that it will take us to all the sights on our required list (and some) and brings us back with almost two days left before our flight back to London. So we can stay in Dublin, check out somewhere new or head back to a place we particularly enjoyed, with time to spare even. It’s no less then ideal.

Details from my last touristy day in London:
"I just got told off for taking pictures inside the auditorium; one of many, of course. So the theatre is much smaller then I expected which makes my 17th row, ground floor seats a bit less then fantastic, but it could be much, much worse. I can’t wait for the show to start but I’m glad just to be sitting down because the morning was so rushed. I went straight to St. Paul’s once I arrived in London and despite the unexpected £9.00 entrance fee, I’m so glad I came back to see it. The 500 some odd steps to the top were killer, but the view was fantastic. The weather stayed sunny so all of London was showcased brilliantly; although the gale force winds at the top made picture taking a bit of a sticky wicket (ask Piechnik). I went there with the view in mind, but I wasn’t prepared for the incredible interior of the cathedral. The show’s about to start…"

"Another really cool aspect of St. Paul’s was the crypt below the floor of the cathedral which housed numerous tombs and sarcophagi; my favorite being that of William Blake. Horatio Nelson also rests in that place; I learned of his importance during my tour of Windsor Castle. From St. Paul’s, I rushed over to the museum and since I didn’t know exactly what time it was, I hurried first to a painting by Di Vinci before asking an employee what time it was. "1:30" she replied, which is exactly the time I needed to be on my way to the theatre. "1:30?" I asked her; very surprised that time had rushed by so quickly. "Well, 1:25, my watch is fast." I thanked her, made a beeline for the Vermeer and rushed for the door. However, my disbelief propelled me to inquire the time, to be sure, just before exiting the building: "12:30" the guard answered. I turned on my heel straight away and returned to the gallery, asking just one more employee along the way for the sake of confirmation. I was able to see everything I wanted and more before catching a bus to the theatre: Vermeer, Di Vinci, Monet, Rembrandt, Van Gogh and an amazing painting by Peter Paul Rubens called "An Autumn Landscape With a View of Het Sheen"; crap, I just realized I missed the Michelangelo. Of all the paintings I looked at, I do have to say that I found the Vermeer the most exciting. For some reason, "Girl With a Pearl Earring" is one of my favorite paintings, so seeing one of his paintings, seeing his very own brush strokes, gave me goose bumps. So I can see why they called it "Les Miserable". I’ll start with the negative: a lady a bit behind me felt the need to hum with the music, which became annoyingly audible at times; it’s beyond me why someone didn’t tell her to zip it. Second, why does everyone feel such a need to clap between musical numbers? It pulls you right out of the story. Well, that’s enough bitching. Just before the show, the two vacant seats on either side of me were filled by two rather large young Asian guys (one of which dozed off during the show) who didn’t speak a word to eachother the whole time. This wasn’t so much good as it was funny. The show was amazing: the acting, the singing, the music, the set; a shiver went up my spine as the opening music broke the silence once the lights had gone dim. At times I became aware of my ridiculously involved facial expressions during particularly emotional and dramatic moments. I found my mind drifting a bit during the mellower, unfamiliar songs, but that was probably just because I couldn’t understand what they were saying."

What a fiasco getting home. My train was cancelled and then all others delayed because of a stalled train on the track. I’m so glad I’ve got a grasp on the train system otherwise this could have been a really stressful situation. As it was, I did make it home; it just took over twice as long. It would have been earlier, as the first train that came after the track was cleared was one I could have taken, but it was so full and when people started pushing to fill in the last few spaces, the train employees started yelling to back away as the doors were closing and the train was about to leave: pandemonium. After sightseeing on my own yet again, I’m looking more and more forward to having Cheryl with me in a month; it’s too bloody lonely. I didn’t realized how uncomfortable I was getting with it until on the train home, a young man tapped me on the arm with his book to insist that I take a seat that had just become available. I didn’t realize it until I had been sitting down for a few minutes, but I felt like the bubble around me had been broken because someone had spoken to me and I was much more relaxed. I realized then that a big part of it was the fact that I didn’t feel invisible anymore. After pondering that for a while, I thought, hey, this is probably good for me; getting comfortable being isolated. But then I thought: why is that important? What’s so bad about being a relational person? I’ve decided that learning things about myself doesn’t always signal a necessary change.

I waited to post this because I leave for France tomorrow morning and although I’m bringing my laptop and will be writing regularly, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to post any of it; you’ll all have a nice long read ahead of you when I get back…ahahaha. Au revoir mes amis.