Journeying / Voyageant

Everybody has to leave, everybody has to leave their home and come back so they can love it again for all new reasons.


Early start, the only word that comes to mind is owch. Was awful to leave to be completely honest with you. I think it is because I know this time I will not be coming back for a very long time, and this separation is taking a while to get my head round. At least I will be seeing my parents at the end of April when they come and help me move out of my flat...but at the same time I already miss them. I know that it is the same every time I leave either of my homes, and as soon as I'm back in the bustle of the other I will forget about the mal du pays, but at the moment it is definitely there.

After Dad dropped me off at the airport I limped my way through check-in, security (they made me take my shoes off, apologising profusely when they realised I couldn't do it without hurting myself!), passport control, aeroplane (where I promptly fell asleep, planned of course!)...and then the fun part. Instead of my usual fun bounce across the Paris RER, turns out that they were working on the lines and so rail replacement buses were all the rage. I don't know why, but recently all I seem to be doing is attracting rail replacement buses!! Vive le transport en commun français! Was helped by different sets of people on four separate occasions, as men carried my case for me upstairs, downstairs, on the bus, off the bus, on the train, off the train...my gosh I must be looking pathetic for the Frenchies to help! So the journey this time instead of RER, walk, RER, walk, train, walk, tram, walk included a bus and a walk right at the beginning as well. Not ideal with my injured leg, but I coped well enough! Had some lovely conversations with random French strangers, one whose mother actually lives in Caen (we swapped numbers for fun!)...it is so great to be able to have spontaneous conversation with people I have never met before; I know that even two months ago I probably wouldn't have felt confident enough to do it. And another result came in the Starbucks at the station, where the member of staff managed to get my name right with the first utterance! The train back to Caen was absolument bondé...I chilled on the floor for the two hours to Caen, along with the majority of the people in my carriage. Did manage to watch a film and a bit though, so it wasn't time wasted!

Starting to realise how little time I have left in Caen, and how much I don't want to leave. Every time I think about it I start to get this little panicked feeling in my stomach. At least I get to stay in France after it I guess! Spent the evening at Chef Raide for drinks with Kendra, Becky (pictured listening to one of Kendra's tales!), Camille and Victor (also other assorted Frenchies, but those guys were the ones I went to see!)....feels like ages since I've caught up with them to be completely honest.

My favourite quote of the evening comes from Kendra, on talking about her new running regime - she ran from her flat to the port...however, it didn't actually come out like that! She ended up saying J'ai couru chez moi jusqu'à la porte...unfortunately using the feminine rather than the masculine, so what she really said was I ran from the flat to my door. Moral of the story: remember your genders of French words!
(La porte - the door)
(Le port - the port)


Time really does fly by, and I've been told it only gets worse as you get older eek! Anyway, an absolutely lovely evening, complete with live jazz music (with a kazoo and a melodica!) and some rather nice pressions. And now, time for bed...I am exhausted!