A week to go. A week!
What a strange limbo this is.
I went out to buy fruit the other day, paused at the end of the driveway, sighed, and turned left instead of right.
What a coward. Instead of heading to my favourite little fruit shack up the road, I went to the big, bland, unfriendly place down the road, spoke to no one and slunk back home with my inferior produce.
It’s so stupid to be avoiding the Raspberry Man who I have enjoyed talking with so much over the last 18 months.
Today I realised why I’ve been doing it. The business of leaving is messing up the business of living. Continue reading
“This is just like the summers of my childhood,” a friend who was born in this region said the other day, lifting her face up to the sun.
“Il faisait si chaud que le goudron fondait sous vos pieds [It used to be so hot that the tar was melting under your feet].“ Continue reading
The girlfriends are coming.
They’ve got leave passes from real life to sneak over to the other side of the world for a couple of weeks.
An itinerary seems in order but I don’t want to be bossy, so I’m working on a pick’n’mix. Continue reading
“No backups for 277 days.”
That’s what the laptop tells me today (although I am backing up – just not to the hard drive in New Zealand that my homesick laptop prefers).
Two hundred and seventy seven days!
Each day a new number that looks a lot closer to 365 than it did five minutes ago when the entire year stretched out before us.
Our year in France is evaporating – one bland, un-ignorable, inaccurate Apple warning at a time. Continue reading
In Provence, there are two types of wine: rosé…
There are three chickens in the garden.
But not for long.
Marseille: smile for the camera
Marseille is just 30 minutes’ drive south of Aix-en-Provence – but it might as well be Baghdad as far as many locals are concerned. Continue reading
All is not right.
This is the year of our dreams.
Almost everything is better than we had dared hope when we decided to take a break from real life and spend a year in the French countryside.
But there is no Dog. Continue reading
You really can’t get more local than your own driveway.
The cherry tree is the size of a small house and heavily laden but we hadn’t noticed the fruit was almost ready until the truck delivering the new fridge took out a branch and knocked a couple of hundred to the ground.
What a day! A cherry harvest and a new fridge (there simply wasn’t enough room in the tiny temporary one for both rosé and food for the children. Sacrifices had to be made).
Nerves of steel are required to drive this road every day
Whoever dares to question French courageousness needs to drive on my road.
Countless fearless Aixois commuters do it every day of the week. Twice. At speed.
The road is as wide as a catwalk model’s ankle.
Steep ditches line each side of it.
Huge trucks travel at ferocious speeds on it.
Tractors and trailers, graders and even horses and carts can be seen on it.
Yet the only one who is terrified is me – leaning pointlessly toward to the centre of the car where it feels a tiny bit safer.