The final words …

Our sojourn en france has been 21 weeks short. We can’t believe how fast the time has flown and what we have experienced.

The miles

During that time, we have lived in three homes (Grenoble, the chalet and Marseille). Bill has ridden countless miles on his velo. We have driven 18,000 kms around southern Europe, and ridden 3,000 kms on the train. This travelling has taken us away from our homes for 7 of our 21 weeks. In addition to that we have made many day trips and overnight stays locally to where we have lived. We’ve come to know the local bus routes and subway lines as well as the local roads in and out of our cities.

In 18 weeks (before our camera was stolen) Bill took 4,500 photos. We had downloaded them each week so all of them were saved. How will we ever sift through them all? Fortunately, they are filed as different events, which will help enormously.

The books

We’ve shared a lot of books and read a few individually. Some of them have been from the bookshelves of our exchange homes. Others we have bought and some we have borrowed. It’s been a great part of our time here, taking the time to read. This has included classics by Steinbeck, Salinger and Hemingway plus biographical works, comedy, fiction, non-fiction.

The writing … as it is for me

In addition I have written more than 30,000 words in my published blogs. There have been 36 stories in 21 weeks, with others written but not published, and still more in my head that will never be written.

Writing these blogs has been a fabulous experience for me at so many levels. My foremost motivation for the blog was to stay in touch with everyone. It became clear in a short space of time that it was also going to serve as a wonderful record of our trip. Then, as time progressed, and I wrote in different styles for different experiences, I realised I was really enjoying the art of writing. This includes not only the words that I choose but the way I approach each story – what are its hooks, where are its linkages and who am I appealing to in each story.

This has been ‘my blog’, writing stories as I see them. I have been careful not to make it too much of ‘our blog’ as this immediately filters the individual story and morphs into something different.

The photos, though, have been a large part of making the stories interesting. Bill has loved being behind the lense and has embraced my wishes for particular photos to suite stories I could see brewing as our adventures continued. Apart from the blogs themselves, the photos will form a huge part of the memory we retain of this sojourn and so although it is my blog in words, it is our blog in pictures.

The unexpected

Having written so many words over five months, I have also realised that my blog has served as a fabulous learning ground for that more serious of tasks which I will be dedicated to on my return home – the completion of my book. The book has been brewing and gaining clarity with the benefit of reflective thought. This interlude of writing my blogs has allowed me the discipline of practicing the written word and also the art of breaking my thoughts into bite sized chunks to make comprehension easier for the reader.

The next step

I am really chaffing at the bit to get back to my book again. I am also a little daunted, having read The Paris Wife. This book is about Ernest Hemingway’s early life with his first wife, when he was a struggling writer in Paris. His discipline and commitment to his writing was amazing.

Although he had a rather troubled and ultimately sad life, Hemingway was single minded about his writing and he still took so many years to be published. The discipline of writing is something I have heard so much about and am really looking forward to embracing in the year ahead. My challenge is going to be having sufficient discipline without it becoming all encompassing.

So this blogger has developed the bug of writing … I can picture myself sitting at my desk in my beautiful little office, overlooking the trees to Brisbane city, typing away on my manuscript.

Bring it on!

The Ingredients …

Mix equal parts Vision, Planning and Persistence … I think these have been the main ingredients for the recipe of success for our Sojourn en France.

For me, it was such a long standing dream that all the work really wasn’t work at all, but more part of the excitement and adventure.

For Bill, his participation in the whole thing was measured, with a complete contentment with home. He ‘came along for the ride’ (literally as it turns out!) as I became so wrapped up in the possibilities and he supported me wholeheartedly in pursuing the dream. In the end, Bill has also enjoyed the journey and has his own stories to tell. These stories will come out in conversations in the fullness of time I am sure.

The sweet presence of family

Mixed in with this recipe has been the added sweetness contributed by our family. For them, our absence didn’t have quite the adventure, yet they contributed selflessly to our endeavours. As is part of family life, our lives are interwoven at different levels.

Especially for our three adult children, it’s a slightly different concept having your parents leave home for six months. It’s supposed to be the other way around! Even though we left home, we have had the comfort of knowing that it is all still there. More than that, we have felt the support and humour of our immediate and extended families.

We’ve loved the way our adventure could happen, sharing it with our family and still being able to participate in their lives as well. Our little adventure in Spain (losing our passports et al), leading to our little adventure in Paris (obtaining new passports et al) highlighted the power of family once again.

Some sage advice

Brent had already had the experience with his passport only months before, so we knew that emergency passports were easily obtainable. He also offered us some sage advice when we first shared the news of the slahsed tyre/no money/ no food/ no where to go. It was simple really. “Sleep in the car” he said! That’s what they did when they were robbed, so why couldn’t we? Now that Brent is home from his own travels he has taken up the mantle of making sure the batteries are charged on Bill’s motorbikes and ‘pick up truck’ so that Bill can reclaim his place on the Australian roads as soon as possible on our return! Brent is also making sure the house is back to its functioning best by testing its ability to withstand a pool party with his friends – very generous and thoughtful of him as part of his preparation for our return!

Bill’s ‘right hand man’

Yay has been ‘Bill’s right-hand man’ in his absence, as she so often is even when we are home, especially in the kitchen when Bill is cooking up a storm. While we have been away she has been there to do all those little things that need attention, as well as sending us money (thankyou sweetheart!), and scanning and emailing so many documents as part of our proof of existence to obtain new ID. It was lovely that Yay and David managed to visit us even just for a few nights in France. As we shared our stories she had some vision of what it was all about.

The young and the restless

Jono was the only one who did not manage to visit us on our sojourn. However, he did manage to inspire us yet again, even in our absence. His recovery from his operation has been brilliant – so much so that the surgeon said to him if he was writing a text book, Jono would be in it. Such is the power of a brilliant surgeon, and also the benefit of the patient’s attitude. Jono has such a natural sense of adventure and zest for life that he couldn’t possibly imagine being kept down for too long – there is simply too much life to experience. His sense of humour has stayed ever present in our many skype calls and his ability to ‘hit the nail on the head’ permeates through our conversations even when we are world’s apart.
When we arrive home in a few weeks, after travelling to the USA, I know that the time apart will melt away instantly.

I am really looking forward to sitting around the swimming pool sharing Christmas champagne and seafood – a wonderful contrast to the European winter that we are starting to feel.

Such is the pleasure of life’s range of experiences.

Winter eeks into the landscape

We are driving through the centre of France on our final two days in the country, heading from Marseille yesterday to the Loire Valley today and Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris tomorrow.

The landscape here would have been stunning in autumn – thick forests of deciduous trees. Now, on the verge of winter, it is eerily beautiful. The temperature is 3C outside with light rain and low cloud while we drive comfortably in our car with the temperature set at 21C. As the drive continues we open out into rich green fields, separated by hedgerows and littered with fat white cattle, probably charolais. The day has advanced now to late morning and the temperature has risen to 6C.

About an hour before we arrived in the Loire Valley and visited Chenonceau Castle, which is built across the river, we drove through the most open farming country we have seen yet in France. It had large pivot and lateral irrigators on newly emerged cereal and oilseed crops. Not a hedgerow in sight. It makes me wonder whether the practice that is maintained in many parts of France with small paddocks, growing a range of different crops is more as a result of landscape necessity rather than a retained appreciation for the long term benefits of biodiversity.

Bill thinks it could also have a lot to do with the Common Agricultural Policy (CAP) that is still in existence in the EU providing economic support to maintain small scale farming businesses. We heard on the news last week that 70% of the EU budget was previously used for agricultural support. This has now been reduced to 40% and is under threat of further reduction. The consequences will be interesting to watch.

It is obviously windy country with wind turbines scattered across the landscape. They are almost space-ship like with the flashing light appearing through the dense, low fog with blades only showing themselves once we are very close.

When we left Marseille, the weather was surprisingly mild for this time of year. If we had not taken this drive north we would have completed our Sojourn en France without experiencing even this little piece of winter, which seems such an important part of the European experience. It is something we would not see at home. As tourists it’s beautiful to experience. I can imagine it would become a little depressing to live in this weather as it gets even colder and darker for several months ahead.

During our earlier travels we spoke with a Belgian couple who told us that in the very northern European countries, they send people to Spain to help them to recover from depression. I can also see why some English people we met have emigrated to the west coast of France to get away from the droll weather and still be close enough to visit if they want to. That whole notion of the sun contributing to our wellbeing by affecting our serotonin levels seems to play out in practical ways in these parts of the world where there are completely different levels of sunlight to our experience in Australia.

Soon we will return to that place in the world with the motto “Sunny one day, perfect the next”. It will be wonderful to be home again and to now have experienced the contrast to really know the difference.

Bond … James Bond

This week Bill and I, like millions of other people around the world, went to see the new James Bond movie, Skyfall. It’s opening apparently made it the highest grossing movie ever.

Going to the movies took us to a different part of Marseille and to a new restaurant afterwards. Not that there is any shortage of restaurants in Marseille. I often take a similar path home from the city and each time I see new restaurants I had not seen before. It really is a feast for the senses.

I enjoyed the movie. Corny and entertaining was my assessment. It took us to different parts of the globe with the blink of an eye and had a few unpredictable twists and turns.

London Bridge

For those who haven’t seen it, an early scene in the movie was in Turkey with Bond and the bad guy both on motorbikes, playing cat and mouse on the rooftop of a Turkish Bazaar – an appropriate word for the scene!

The movie then moved quickly to London to the MI6 headquarters.

When we were in London about six weeks ago, we did one of those top deck bus tours – now found all over the world but made famous by the red London double decker buses, versions of which are still used for public transport. We have found this to be a great way to see a city and get our bearings before heading off on our own.

This time we had a ‘real’ guide who added some personality into the commentary. We drove past the Bond extravaganza posters everywhere. They were even in many of the windows of Harrods. The commentator said London has been the centre for a lot of movies in recent years. She said she had been doing this job for so long she wasn’t qualified for anything else, except perhaps to go to the movies and sit in the back row and call out “There’s no telephone box on that street corner!”

We didn’t notice the MI6 headquarters during our tour. We did see so many of the London landmarks and it was great to see them in real life after a life time of tours through the TV and movie screens.

My favourite of all was London Bridge. It didn’t matter what angle we saw it from – we did both river boat and bus tours – it was majestic, beautiful, interesting and full of life.

Notting Hill

When I booked our hotel for the three nights in London, I chose one called Kensington Court Hotel in Notting Hill. It was a double bonus – ‘Kensington’ being the name of our farm and ‘Notting Hill’ being famous from the movie by the same name. It was also very close to the underground and only a few stops from the centre of London, so it was a great location.

Then when I studied the map a little closer I noticed a street called Portobello Road. That name rang a bell, so I used that wonderful tool called google and realised it is the very same road that was made famous by Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts in the movie Notting Hill. Those markets are still held every Saturday and we had Saturday morning before we left for the airport. So it was meant to be.

Bill wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic as me, but nonetheless he came along to see what all the fuss was about. We gave ourselves an early start, arriving there about 9 am. It was bitterly cold and we only had a few hours. It was only a few blocks away from our hotel, so it was easy walking.

When I was searching for its history, the website offered directions as follows: “By Tube, the best way of all … go to Notting Hill Gate Station and follow the crowd – yes really, you can’t go wrong! The market starts about a five minute walk from the tube station.” (http://www.portobellomarket.org/howtogetthere.htm)

How right they were!

Thank goodness we arrived early. The stall holders were still setting up their gas cookers ready to create the most massive chicken stir-fry and barbequed capsicum dishes I have ever seen. The shop owners who fronted the street were all putting out their packs of six silver spoons and forks, old fob watches, and porcelain cups and plates. It went for the whole street which is about three kilometres long. As we walked up the street there were flower stalls and food stalls galore. Up the far end, there were stalls for second hand clothes, records and books, as well as stages for music
performances later in the day.

By the time we left, about 10.30 am, as we turned to return up the street, you could hardly walk against the crush of people coming down the street. I don’t know how the stall holders make any money because it seemed too crowded for anybody to be able to stop and browse or chat. It was almost overwhelming. It seemed to me that it is suffering from its own success. So it will be interesting to see what happens to it in the years ahead.

Monopoly

The other fun part of being in London was that the monopoly board was everywhere!

We walked down the Strand and drove along Fleet Street.

We saw Piccadilly Station on the tube maps and stood in Leicester Square.

It was rather cool!

Bond in Marseille

I close the loop of this blog by going back to Marseille again.

Front page news a couple of weeks ago was ‘Marseille could be film capital for James Bond’, with the producers inspecting the area to establish a future movie set. Having survived against all odds, again, if Daniel Craig struts his stuff around Marseille in the next adventure, we will be able to say “There’s no boulangerie on that street corner!”

This one’s for the rowers …

Yesterday I had my final row in Marseille. Coincidentally, this was within hours of you hitting the water for The Head of the Yarra.

By the time you were all regaling your adventures over the mandatory celebratory champagne, we were enjoying a magnificent dinner in Marseille in Les Arcenauxl. It is an old arsenal building, now home to a bookshop, gift shop and restaurant.

Aviron en France

Rowing here in France has been a highlight of our home exchange experience for me. Part of my aspiration for this five months has been to immerse myself as much as possible into the French culture in the way of food, friendship and language. Rowing has given me the best opportunity to improve my language skills learning the different rowing terms and attempting general conversation.

I have rowed frequently in both Grenoble and Marseille and it has been great fun. Bill has rowed occasionally and spend a lot of time cycling – as I have detailed in a few of my earlier blogs.

So here’s a little about my rowing ‘en France’.

The romantic notion I carried with my from Australia was that I would be rowing three times a week on one of those beautiful European lakes that we see in all the photographs, with no-one else for miles, on crisp clear mornings. Actually nothing could be further from the truth! My rowing experiences have been in far more difficult conditions than we see on the Brisbane River.

All the Rivers Run

When we first arrived in Grenoble in July I wrote about my attempts to contact the rowing club. It did require quite a deal of persistence to actually end up in a boat!

On my first outing, to show that I could actually row, the Grenoble Rowing Club insisted that I partake in a learn-to-row class. The first step was to row in one of those rowing tanks. I thought I might feel like the twins off Social Networking but I didn’t quite achieve such dizzy heights! However, after demonstrating my limited skill, it was decided that I would go stroke for my first time on the river!

Access to the pontoon was a new experience. We had to carry our quad up a steady slope out of the basement of the boat shed, across the road and down a narrow path around a couple of corners before we reached the pontoon. The distance wasn’t very far but the manoeuvre was a bit tricky.

The boat was a coxed quad, which pleased me greatly, and the cox was chosen because he spoke English (a wise decision with an English speaking stroke who is rowing in France for the first time). Like Brisbane, the rowing in Grenoble is also on the river, but the current is extraordinary. We rowed upstream for at least half an hour, probably longer, and only travelled about 2 kms! There was no stopping or you would end up back where you started. It was hard work. I expressed my dismay, mainly with gesticulation, and was assured that this is the reason that Grenoble often wins the French championships because no other club has to train under such conditions!

After that row, the head coach of the club directed me to another boat shed further down river where there is a barrage (like at Rockhampton) that reduces the current significantly. This shed is where the masters rowers can be found (as distinct from the elite and the learn-to-row who are both coached from the main shed). Once again I had to reintroduce myself and assure them that I had paid my dues and had been directed to this shed. This shed became my regular place of rowing during our eight weeks in Grenoble. Although the club was closed for a couple of weeks over their main summer holidays so I really only rowed there for about five weeks.

Rowing seems to be always at lunch time in France. They traditionally have a two hour lunch with the working day officially ending at 6 pm. Whenever I went to the sheds, I really didn’t know whether I would be in a crew or not. So I had to work hard to ingratiate myself to my fellow rowers!

Firstly, I always turned up early. Then, I always greeted each person as they arrived with a smile, a wave and a hearty ‘Bonjour’, and I always waited until somebody invited me into a crew. It is a fairly humbling experience, wondering whether you will be invited to join the regular rowers when you are just a short term ‘blow-in’. I guess being from the other side of the world made me a little unique and helped my cause, but I wasn’t just there for one or two rows. I was there for quite a few weeks.

Another part of our routine was for Bill to always come with me to the sheds. When the crews were being formed for the day, if they needed an extra seat, he would row. If they did not, he would cycle. This helped me enormously as if the numbers were uneven it would have been much more difficult to expect a seat in a crew.

I had a great time rowing on the rivers in Grenoble. We rowed in quads, fours and doubles.  The boats are the same style and a similar standard to ours – some good and some not so good. Two rivers flowed out of the French Alps and met just a few kilometres downstream from the rowing shed. So we started the row in one river, then joined the other
before retracing our path back again. It was picturesque with mountain ranges all around and beautiful coloured water.

Tamara rowed with us once. That time there was a quad and a four with an international contingent present. We had three Frenchmen, three Aussies (Bill, Tamara and me), an Englishman who was working in Grenoble for the year, and a sixty year old Dutch lady who just turned up on spec, having ridden her bicyle from Holland for the fun of it during the summer vacation.

Big ships, little ships and rowing boats

My time at the Marseille Rowing Club has been a totally different experience. The city and the club are located right on the Mediterranean Coast. The club house is located on a tiny little inlet off the original old port of the city, towered over by ancient fort structures, with sailing boats cluttering the entrance. It is an amazing sight.

They are proud of their club and its history with many posters, medals and trophies adorning the walls. Despite this, it is a totally social experience. The office is manned three days a week. On those days there is also a boatman helping with boat allocation and manoeuvre. Generally when we return from our row just before 2 pm, he is sitting in the shed with the masters rower who is assisting for the day, having a two course lunch with the requisite bottle of wine!

Which boat? Well it depends how windy it is and therefore where you plan to row. The Mistral Winds are notorious in Marseille, often blowing at 100 kph. On these days, of course there is no rowing so you can choose to use the ergos or the rowing tank.

When the Sea is calm, most rowers opt for an ocean experience!

Because the Mediterranean Sea is relatively protected by surrounding land mass, there are no waves as we know them, just swells (sometimes rather large wells) that do create quite an interesting rowing style. The riggers in these Sea-going rowing boats are designed to lift if the swells are too great. I can’t say that this improved my rowing technique, especially not my tendency to sky at the catch!

It is such a novel experience rowing in the Sea. The boats are very wide and hence quite stable. They are always coxed and they are always sculling boats, never sweep. You row for about the same timeframe. There are one or two breaks when they swap cox and rower to share the experience. Then when we arrive at the turnaround point, they dive into the Sea and have a quick swim!! In the middle of summer it is glorious and a lot of fun in the crystal clear Sea!

On more windy days, we either row in the commercial port, sometimes having to wait on the edge of the port for an ocean liner to move past us – that’s an experience I never expected to have in my rowing career! This is good straight rowing following the wall of the port, once the big ships are out of the way, so we manage a bit of rhythm.

Other times, we row in the Old Port. This is the original fishing port of Marseille. These days the fishermen have moved elsewhere and the port is cluttered with small to medium sailing boats and some motorboats. It is a rather surreal experience rowing in and out of this Old Port. You view the old buildings and cathedrals through the filter of the sailing masts. The rowing ‘circuit’ is from the edge of the Sea, past the entrance of the commercial port into the Old Port and return. We do this five or six times for a rowing session, so there is a lot of turning. I really loved seeing the city from this perspective.

All the boats that we rowed in Marseille are wider and heavier than our normal rowing boats. There are the normal European boats in the shed, but they seem to be used by the young elites and only in the Old Port when the weather is perfect. I think they must go elsewhere for their training as there are always boat trailers coming and going.

I left Australia with a very firm goal to include rowing in my experience during our home exchange. Persistence allowed me to achieve the goal, and the welcome friendliness of my fellow rowers made it a lot of fun. I don’t think my technique has improved at all and I am looking forward to rowing in Sugar Glider in January. It will have been six months since I rowed in a single scull – I’m almost nervous thinking about it!!

Go well, fellow rowers. Please send us some stories of your adventures in Melbourne, and we look forward to seeing you all after Christmas. Next stop … our B&B for World Masters in Italy!

The aftermath

It is now 12 days since we had the rather extraordinary experience of being robbed twice in one day. We still shake our heads at their audacity and swiftness.

Since that time, we have been totally focused on the reparation from such an event with the loss of our shoulder bags and all that was in them, as well as the slashed tyre and the process that has entailed. Our passports and visas have now been replaced after a great deal of time, money and effort, including five days in Paris. We certainly don’t recommend the experience to anyone else, except the Paris part of course, which was tres bon!

We have had some funny moments that are worth sharing.

Kung-fu Kylie

On the first night, neither of us slept very well. l spent half that first night kick boxing and kung-fu-ing the predators. I was actually quite proud of my efforts … until I shared it with Bill at breakfast the next morning. … when he just about choked on his cereal wondering whether to laugh or cry at my imagination! He said he has seen me try to bust a cardboard box and I can’t even do that!! I was further disheartened when I went to show him the actions I had undertaken during the dream and I could barely raise my kick boxing leg above my waist!

Mexican Standoff

The car company was incredibly good to us, paying for our hotel for the weekend while we waited for the dealership to be open on Monday to replace the tyre. If we had money, we would have been able to arrange a new tyre ourselves but we had no means to pay for it. We were sure that it would be pretty simple to fix the tyre on Monday morning and then we would be on our way. Not so.

Somehow, despite many assurances along the way, replacing the tyre took until Tuesday evening. It transpired that the dealer would not do the work unless the payment was made, and the car company was not prepared to make the payment until the work had been done. So we were in the middle of a Mexican standoff.

Meanwhile the car company was still paying our hotel bill. Eventually, the car company arranged for the taxi driver, a one-man band, to take me to the garage and also to pay the dealer. Then I waited for two hours while the tyre was changed, before taking the twenty minute drive back to the hotel in the dark, avoiding the toll way (as I still had no money) and hoping beyond hope that I would be successful – not knowing what would be my fate if I had ended up on a tollway and could not get off.

If phones could talk

We also seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time on the phone. Cancelling our credit cards and then ordering new ones was quite easy (although twelve days later we are still waiting for the pins on both). Trying to organise emergency cash through our credit card company was quite a story.

Although they assured us the service was quick and the cash would be delivered within half a day, it never actually came. In an effort to follow up, I phoned the emergency number, which answered in Denver, Colorado. I was then transferred through to the appropriate department. They confirmed some information and then said I needed to speak with our bank that the credit card is linked to. Having made my phone call from Spain, and spoken with someone in the USA, they then transferred me through to our bank in Australia.

While this was happening, I was envisioning the telephone cord wrapping itself around the world and marvelling at how it can all happen on one phone call. Here’s what happened next … the bank in Australia put me back to the credit card company in the States, who then put me back to the bank in Australia!! Each time I was put through to the general switch board and had to find my way through the voice messages and selection process.

At that point, having been around the world a few times, I hung up! I tried again later, this time going straight to the bank. I finally found a helpful person who sounded as though he would have been able to track the money. The mobile phone had other ideas. I don’t think it trusted what it was hearing, so it conducted its own protest. My phone turned its mute button ‘on’ and refused to turn it ‘off’. I think it had heard enough and knew when it was time to quit. So I had to hang up.

By this stage I was punch drunk having made so many calls for so many reasons that I just couldn’t bare to try again.

Finally, after returning to Marseille several days later, we had a call from the bank and we told them that we had made other arrangements.

In the end, we used Western Union for Yay to transfer money to us. It was very easy for her. The collection was easy for us because the Australian Embassy in Spain, whom we had phoned when our passports were stolen, had written us a letter verifying our ID using the old passport photo. If the Embassy had not done that, we would not have been able to collect the money – yet another reason for holding your passports on your body at all times, even when you are travelling in the car! The lady at the post office in Brisbane asked Yay who the money was going to. When Yay said, ‘my parents’ the lady said “Well, that’s a new twist. A kid saving the parents”!

The Royal Portrait

As part of the preparation for our new passports, we had new photos taken. The photographer was very kind to me and suggested I have ‘just a little smile’. I am sure this was to avoid it looking like a prison photo. The result was a neutral face, which still meets the passport requirements.

When I showed Bill the ‘perfected neutrality’ on my face, his dry humour surfaced once again. He suggested that with this expression on my face combined with my curly hair, all we needed to do was add a tiara and I could be part of the next issue of Commonwealth stamps! Now I can’t look at my photo without cracking a wry smile!

Our journey now continues. We are a little more wary than before, and a lot wiser. We have ten days left before we head for Chicago, in which time we plan to complete a few outstanding things on our ‘to do’ list.

One of those things is a few blogs that are still to be written …

A few bad apples …

Our faith in human nature fell briefly into question today as we became the victims of not one, but two very cleverly implemented robberies.

Both robberies occurred at a service station on the motorway in Spain, about three hours apart.

Both involved teams with one acting as distractor and decoy while the other conducted the robbery. We have discovered from bitter personal experience that despite our knowledge and awareness, the art of distraction is a very effective tool. With deft skill, only a very brief time is then required to complete the robbery.

The end result is a slashed tyre, two stolen bags that include all the items that we have always heard about being stolen in other people’s experiences, but never imagined would happen to us. What we still had was my phone (with dwindling credit) and my computer.

Several hours later after reporting our cards, passports etc as well as reporting our car damage to Peugeot, a tow truck arrived.

At this point, our faith in humanity was restored. As we had no method of payment for the towing and vehicle damage, and as the dealerships are closed for the weekend, Peugeot has booked us into a hotel until Monday. We have now made our police report and all that is required. We shall see what Monday brings.

In the meantime, we will use the remainder of the weekend to continue the process of reporting, reordering and dealing with all the incidental consequences of such an event.

I have written this blog to help to ‘get it off my chest’, to include it as a record of our time on home exchange, and to share the information from which others may benefit.

For now we will return to France as soon as possible. We will not get to see Spain as we had planned, but I am sure it is a beautiful country.

It brings to mind the famous French and international expression, “C’est la vie” or “That’s life”.

Wishes can come true …

My last cycling story was my fabulous wild ride through Paris. This one has a slightly different flavour to it!

We had a three day adventure into the countryside of Provence. It was all one could imagine in a story book. Truly, if we were to have had only three days to experience Provence these would have been the three. We had been given strict instructions from Laurence and Christophe (our home exchange couple) that there are four hilltop villages that are a must-see.

It’s good to have a goal

Our goal was to do some cycling and at the same time see the villages and the countryside – in beautiful weather of course.

Bill tells me that there are a few things to think about before you head off on a cycling journey. First of all we don’t really know the quality of the different roads. Secondly, thinking about ‘hilltop’ villages, made me wonder whether I could actually cycle between them considering the potential slope! In addition to that, the countryside is like a rabbit warren, with roads heading off everywhere, so we ran a bit of a risk of actually getting lost!

So although it sounds simple and idyllic, Bill had done a bit of work beforehand to give us some hope of success. Still with all these variables in mind, we decided we would drive for the day, seeing all the villages and then choose somewhere to cycle the following day.

It is now early November. The autumn tones are still around (surprisingly) and the days are crisp and clear.

As we drove to each little hilltop village, we were amazed (again) at the age and relatively good condition of so many of the old stone buildings; and also at how the communities managed to build everything on such a slope, showing their level of planning an expertise.

Each hilltop village afforded us the most spectacular views of the countryside – picture postcards everywhere. And as we walked along little narrow streets, many of them had their own totally enchanting features.

“There’ll be a reason …”

At the end of our first day we headed to the bicycle hire shop that Bill had sussed out. What he hadn’t done was actually phone them to check that they were open. (The risk of speaking to someone was just too great!) So we turned up to a shop that had a big sign up saying they were closed for this week. We were of course disappointed, but my ‘glass half full’ was in operation.

“There’ll be a reason” was my response. So we hurriedly made new plans knowing the day was closing around us. Courtesy of Bill’s Lonely Planet ‘Cycling France’ guide book, we found a larger town called Apt with a velo hire shop. This photo shows the books and maps in the passenger-side door of our car. We were armed and ready for all possibilities with atlas, tourist guide and cycle book!

We arrived to hire my bike just as the proprietor was packing up for the day. In my best French I asked him whether he had a map of the area for cycling. He suggested we go to the Tourism Office for such information – and that too was about to close.

We made it there and found out ‘the reason’ the other bike shop was closed and we had come to Apt instead … From this town there is a 28 km bicycle path that follows an old railway line – resplendent with old bridges to ride over and under, cuttings in the roads, vineyards, olive groves, fruit orchards and glorious open countryside.

What more could you ask for? Well…

You could also have a hilltop village a short distance from the cycle path to test your cycling legs just a little.

Oh and one more thing … you could ask for your Two Star (**) hotel for the night to be coincidentally straight across the road from the cycle path and, surprisingly, to have a fantastic restaurant in-house.

So there was our ‘reason’ for the first cycle shop being closed. We would never have known about this cycle path. Taking that option made our day so beautifully relaxing.

As we were cycling along, I commented to Bill “This is just how I imagined it would be for us cycling through Provence”. He smiled and said “Yep, you always thought we would have the road to ourselves, with it also levelled out especially for us!”

The final conquest

Then last night we headed to the foothills of Mont Ventoux to a village called Bedoin. Our purpose was for Bill to climb the mountain peak this morning. We were still located in the heart of wine country so I sampled a local Ventoux red for dinner as an accompaniment to my succulent duck, while Bill prepared himself for the climb with a hearty 3 course meal.

Mont Ventoux is one of the Tour de France peaks that Bill cycled, and Brent jogged, in August in the height of summer. Bill decided that, because we were ‘in the area’, he might as well do it again!

This time he experienced a brisk, clear morning with a dust of last night’s snowfall still on the roadside as he ascended. This photo shows Bill’s destination, taken from the village of Bedoin where began his climb, at an altitude of about 300 metres. It shows the magnificent day. Next, Bill is cycling his final 50 metres to the finish line at the peak of Mont Ventoux at 1912 m altitude.

This climb was Bill’s final conquest. Winter is setting in and he will soon pack his bike for the trip home.

It provides a fabulous book-end experience.

Bill’s first ride in France was Alpe d’Huez with the sheer anticipation of climbing a peak on our third day in the country, in the height of summer with the Tour de France only days away … to this final climb on the cusp of winter with no crowds or hype to urge him on … just Bill and his will … and the lasting experience of his final mountain climb.

There is a moral to this story for both us from these three glorious days … It pays to wish for good things – they just might come true!!

Autumn in the northern hemisphere

We lucked it with our trip to England.

We made our plans with Patrick for when he was available and also before the weather was too cold. What we hadn’t planned as a result of this timing was that we walked into the most glorious part of the autumn season with the leaves just brimming with colour.

I was in heaven!

These European trees are something special. When we travelled north to Germany in September we experienced the majesty of the dark foliage and the dense forests. They seemed to draw me into them. I know I would be happy to sit for hours surrounded by them, feeling the life that oozes from their pores.

In the Cotswold Hills, Patrick took us to a local arboretum, which was ablaze with autumn colour. We walked the paths and stood dumbfounded at so many of the glorious colour formations formed by the intricate leaf patterns and contrasted with either trunk or stem or another palate of colour.

Here in Marseille, Autumn has greeted us with clear crisp days heralding the most magnificent azure blue skies and the ocean to match. Our outdoor sofa on the roof top terrace is the perfect vantage point to soak up the gentle sun and the beautiful sky.

Before coming here we have previously been told that ‘there is no sky like the Australian sky’ with its magnificent blues. I suspect that Provence may give us a run for our money in those stakes. In Australia we probably see that glorious colour for more of the year, but I think Provence sees it in autumn. The mistral winds seem to play a large part in helping to achieve this clarity of colour. The days after the winds have blown are always the most exquisite. This seems a fine example of the saying ‘It’s an ill wind that blows no good’.

This sailing photo looks like a postcard, but it is one of Bill’s collection. These colours of Provence to which I refer, are one of the reasons why so many artists over the centuries have based themselves in this region. I can certainly understand why.

Here is just one example from a website promoting Provence (http://www.lessaisonsavignon.com/artists.html):

The subject of the “special light” witnessed in Provence may seem a cliché; however as you look up to the peak of Sainte Victoire you can not fail to see exactly what Cezanne saw and interpreted.  This part of the world truly is a painter’s paradise and whether you harbour a secret desire to paint, are already a novice or pro, then bring along your paints and sketchbooks; you won’t be disappointed.

We are off tomorrow to try a little cycling in the countryside of Provence. The autumn colours may now have abated, but I am sure a spectacle still awaits us.

Changing expectations …

Expectations are an intriguing thing. We seem to need them to function and make the most of our time on this earth. Then what happens when those expectations are not met?

Well, for me, I usually go through a rejigging process. I ponder what has not been met, and often search for an understanding. My normal view is to operate through a filter of the glass being half full. But when expectations have not been met, then occasionally for me that glass is less than half full. I wouldn’t say the glass is half empty, just sometimes not quite half full. (There’s a difference there in my expectations I think!) Usually the water (or wine!) reaches the midway point again before very long. My rejigging process helps me to create new expectations and so the process goes on.

That’s about where I am right now. We have been on our home exchange for four months. We have one month to go. That’s a long time and not such a long time, depending how you look at it – and perhaps depending on your expectations for that five months.

Last week, a sense that the glass is not quite half full, started to creep into my psyche. I have a few expectations from our home exchange experience that have not been met. One major one is to have immersed myself into the French culture by way of language, food and friendships.  Well, I haven’t! They’ve all happened to an extent, but not to the extent that I had expected.

That puts a bit of a dampener on things doesn’t it!

Now what do I do? Yes, I start my rejigging process. Now that I have had the experience here I can understand several reasons for not achieving the immersion I had expected, and I now think my initial expectations were unrealistic … so I search for ways of making that glass half full again. Depending how important those expectations are to my life, I can choose to retain those expectations and search for new ways to make them happen. Alternatively, I can choose to accept that they were expectations that have simply not been met, and acknowledge that outcome for what it is.

Often I choose the former. In this case, I choose the latter.

The language, food and friendships that have been part of this trip have been fabulous. I am sure that I could have coped with more of all of them!  I need only to think for a moment to recognise the incredible array of other extraordinary and ordinary experiences that I hadn’t expected which have come my way. This is easily evidenced by the many blogs I have written and by many more blogs that are still in my head to write!

I am already thinking about a few of my favourite photos from Bill’s massive collection and incorporating them into my final blog as well.

So there we go. The rejigging process is underway and I can now move with gusto towards the experiences that await us in our remaining four weeks. These experiences include cycling between villages in Provence, travelling to Spain for Bill to see Casey Stoner’s last motor bike race, visiting wineries and castles in the Loire Valley and spending our last five days in Paris – it’s tough to take!

Bon nuit.