Unlucky Travelling

On Friday Dale and I finished painting the bedroom, or at least got as far as we could before running out of paint, then turned to the trim and hallway to keep ourselves busy. When we finished the second coat on Monday it looked fresh and bright downstairs, which concluded our short and pleasant working life in France.

Saturday was Adrien’s eighth birthday. We woke to about ten kids running around the house and enjoying a Star Wars themed party. That night Alexis and Ami had invited their English neighbours, who had just arrived, to an aperitif. Aperitif is essentially appetisers and a catch-up. The older couple was fun to chat to, and wished us luck on our next adventures.

Hiking to the chapel

On Sunday it was France’s mother’s day, so Alexis got us all out of the house to finally hike up to the chapel and let Amy have a break. The day was half grey and half sunny as we hiked the proper route through the woods, followed by the yellow fields and the footpath to the cathedral on the hill. Dale ran on ahead, leaving Adrien and I to race after him, trying to stay hidden. Alièna picked a wide variety of colourful wild flowers for her maman. At the old chapel we paused for a snack, then the kids livened up and suggested a game of tag, the church’s door representing safety. They called the person who was “it” the “loup,” or the wolf. Afterwards we walked to a tiny old village that looked stuck in the 1800s, where baby ducks, chicks, and dogs, all wandered the roads together. Alièna had been hoping to see her friend’s horse, but we patted a different stocky black horse instead. Apparently that type of horse is typical to the region.

The old village

On Monday Amy offered to call the hostel we stayed in in France on our behalf because we had been charged twice for our stay. We even contacted our bank, who told us there was a charge on the chip reader, then a manual charge hours after we had left the hostel. In the end Amy decided Alexis should do the talking in case they were trying to pull one over on us and a true French accent would scare them. To our relief, the tactic worked. Our other issue was with the Eurolines website. We thought we had to book our first bus ticket before upgrading to the bus pass, but in the end we only booked a bus ticket and had to do the rest in person. Amy convinced the office over the phone to give us half of our money back, which was better than losing a full 60 euros. That night as I was showering the kitchen started leaking everywhere. It turned out the plumbers had not originally glued the pipes together well and they had come undone under the floor. Our luck wasn’t doing us any favours. Nevertheless, got to enjoy a dinner of savoury crepes, called galettes, followed by dessert crepe filled with sugar and lemon or nutella. The kids gave us big hugs to say goodbye as we washed the dishes one last time.

On Tuesday we said goodbye to the parents who had been our wonderful hosts. Alexis said, “Maybe see you in California!” where they are from, and Amy drove us to Toulouse, where we made it just in time to book our tickets before the two hour lunchbreak. We promised her a good review—a great one she will get!—and said goodbye. We bussed all day with baguettes from home. We arrived in Barcelona late to find that 360 Hostel was booked for the wrong dates. Thankfully they called around on our behalf and sent us to a hostel near Sagrada Familia. The bad new is they only said it was around there. Two hours and a breakdown later, in which I seriously considering sleeping outside, we finally found it. St. Jordi was a nice but noisy place, though we both crashed. Surprisingly, our late returning roommates were incredibly considerate and quiet.

Sagrada Familia at night

The next day we took our backpacks and walked all the way to the bus again to book our train tickets to Marseilles for that same day, eating nectarines along the way. Luckily there was room on the bus late that night, so we went to the market, getting lost along the way and more and more sore and exhausted. However, the market was worthwhile. We spent under 20 euros, our daily food goal, at the same market we went to with Danielle and Tank. We got dry and cold meat pockets and delicious strawberry coconut smoothies. For lunch we bought meat and cheese in a cone, a baguette that we ripped apart with our hands to eat chunks off, as well as a huge water bottle, two large cones of sweet fruit, and a box of chocolate chip cookies. We walked down La Ramblas to the beach, where we were kicked off the beach chairs because they cost 6 euros per person. We found a spot on the sand for our one towel, and stayed there reading and eating until the sky darkened ominously and even the vendors started to disappear. By the time we reached Barcelona’s Arc de Triomph we were met with a tropical rainstorm. Thanks to Ireland, I was equipped with an umbrella in my purse. Desperate for a toilet and some internet to book our Rome hostel, we ended up settling in the bus station, where we immediately booked the wrong dates for the hostel again. Dale couldn’t believe his idiocy. We were both exasperated, but there wasn’t much we could do about it since we had no where to charge the laptop, camera, or phones.

Before the weather turned

When the bus arrived that night we were ready for a nap, our shoulders aching from lugging our bags so far all day. But it didn’t look like luck was on our side once again. We were stuck at the back of the bus between a guy who reeked of smoke, and a bountiful lady who didn’t want to move her feet off of the third seat so Dale would have someplace to sit. We had bought ourselves neck pillows (and candy) just before departing, which was the only pitiful comfort we had for the trip. I managed to sleep, waking up at least once an hour, but Dale did not. The bus was constantly stopping to let people off and pass through toll booths. Dale had to keep pushing the big lady’s feet away from himself. Then, when we arrived in Marseilles, customs officers came on board with a dog and since Dale and I were stuck with the smeller the whole ride, we were pulled aside for questioning. Luckily the lady we spoke to could communicate in English, searched our bags, asked just a few questions, then let us go.

We stopped at the MacDonald’s in the station for some food, but were unable to find an outlet for the laptop. When we went to the Eurolines booth, the lady told us we needed to go to the actual office, which was closed. It looked like everything was closed for some kind of holiday, which meant that not only was our hostel booking in Rome wrong, there was no way for us to get there until Saturday anyways. I paid 50 cents to throw on the dress I wore yesterday and brush my teeth in the washroom, then we stepped outside. The sky was a nice blue, and I was wowed by the view of the cathedral on the mountain. With no camera, I was sad that we couldn’t capture it. With a little confused wandering, we finally set off in search of a tourism office, which was also closed, then found the ocean port. It was a long rectangle of clear blue water with hundreds of sailboats docked along the sides and a market with a mirrored covering in full tilt on our left. We sat for a while and just watched, remembering just how long Marseilles has been a port city. When we were ready, we tried another MacDonald’s, then found a Starbucks with internet and outlets. Needless to say, our food budget is already broken today. On the plus side, we managed to call our hostel in Rome and rearrange the dates. Now we have to find a hostel in Marseille for a few days so we don’t have to consider sleeping outside again, as well as keep our fingers crossed that there will actually be seats on the bus to Rome on Saturday. As soon as we can dump our belongings at a hostel I think we will be hitting the beach for some glorious nap time.

Little Town in a Quiet Village

Friday was a boiling hot day that we spent with Amy laying a path along the side of the house, next to the pond. We used slate she had found in the yard a long time ago. Apparently before there were garbage men in France people used to dump their trash in a section of their yards. As we were digging spots for the stones we found countless huge nails or bits of brick. By the end of the day I noticed that I’m starting to look tan—by which I mean that my skin is now off-white. In the evening we watched the movie “Prisoners” with Amy and Alexis after the kids were in bed. It was the first time I’ve seen the television on in this house. It appears the two of them do what Dale and I have done all year, which is just use the laptop to access shows. Now that I’ve done it for a year I can see that living without cable or satellite wouldn’t be such an inconvenience. Amy and Alexis have done without for eight years.

St. Girons

The market is under the line of trees in the distance

On Saturday Alexis drove us to the market in St. Girons, which is nearby. We ran into at least two different families that we knew, which clearly shows that everyone goes to the market on the weekend. After walking down the little alleys, we reached the market and split up with Alexis so that we could check out the vendors while he shopped for fresh fruit and vegetables. There were two main lines for us to follow; one starting in a small square with an outdoor coffee shop, then splitting with another while both follow a line of tall trees. Alexis told us as we sipped coffee in the shop afterwards that it only costs a euro to set up a two-foot table for yourself. As a result there were many different items for sale, including large wheels of cheese, pizzas, waffles, shoes, clothes, and musical instruments. Dale wanted to get himself a hat, so we kept our eyes open as we wandered until I found a wide-brimmed white one for myself instead. The lady selling the hat said something I couldn’t discern in French, then when I smiled apologetically said simply, “Ten dollars.”

Another St. Girons photo from the bridge

We wandered back through the trees until we came to a hat stall we had come to originally. I was already wearing a hat from elsewhere, and the hovering lady smiled when Dale said in English, “I don’t speak French.” She replied slyly, “You don’t? Here, try on this one.” In the end he didn’t buy one, but her annoyance could only be short lived when he bought a hat from on Tuesday in Castillon, after his haircut.

The market

Our completed work on the path

We spread gravel along the path with Alexis and Amy when we got back, which looked very nice when we were finished. For lunch we enjoyed a sweet lemon cheese, which I had never thought to mix together before. In the evening, Tobias, his linguist wife, and their kids came over for pizza out on the terrace. The pizzas came from a shop in Castillon, but there is no delivery here. We got to enjoy a ham and local wild mushrooms pizza, as well as a blue cheese pizza which was a little too salty for my liking. 

On Sunday we accompanied the family to a kids’ festival in Castillon. Adrien had been practicing for a “spectacle,” or play, during the two weeks they were out of school, and this was the big day. We walked into the village together, Dale spotting a fat snake along the way. The festival was held under the linked trees just off the main street. Dale and I bought ourselves some “gauffe,” also known as waffles, from a youth group who took forever trying to figure out how to cook them, while looking very uncomfortable about making us wait. I kept smiling so that they would know we didn’t really mind. When we finally did get the waffles covered in Nutella and whipped cream, we went inside a gymnasium to watch the spectacle. As Adrien predicted, I didn’t understand what was going on at all, but he showed up as a baker in the background and we all waved when he took his bow afterwards. We bought some candy from the youth group when the performance was over, then Dale and I decided to head back since the rest of the activities were for young kids. We raced home on and off in the muggy weather, then spent the rest of the day binge reading.

Hardly a chore to work in this garden at all

Dale and I decided to make a Canadian meal for dinner that night, so we made a poutine with Guinness gravy, which we thought was quite appropriate. Unfortunately we failed at the gravy because we needed broth rather than a powder. We added water to make it work, but it still ended up very salty. Alexis seemed to like it anyways. For dessert they presented us with fromage blanc. Fromage blanc comes in a little yogurt-like container. You pour it into a bowl, then add sugar and a bit of cream. The sugar stays as crystals in the sweet-flavoured cheese, which was a very nice texture. I thought it was a great dessert, but was disappointed to find out that you can’t typically find it back home.

Monday was a day of gardening and chunking up the very dry dirt. It hadn’t rained in a few days, but the weather was very muggy still. On Tuesday we planted pumpkins in the garden and then stood back because it looked like we had completed everything that ours hosts had hoped. So we started painting their bedroom, which was a relief from the temperate outside. We had already painted part of the upstairs hallway with a paint that dried very funny, and the bedroom was no different. This time we had to apply the thick teal paint with a spatula. It was difficult to do, so it became a project for the next few days. That night I finished reading “World Without End” on my Kobo, which I thought was a great read. Dale was disappointed to have no more of what he called “book gossip” while we worked. That night Dale, Alexis, Alexis' colleague Luis, and I had dinner on the terrace. The two of them were planning to be in the forest at 4:00am because these strange, massive black turkeys were going to gather and gobble. Alexis studies the migratory pattern of birds.

The storm finally arrived on Wednesday, which meant it was good that we had an indoor project. There wasn’t much rain, but the sky was dark even while the sun shone, and the wind was so strong that it snapped the thick wood poles holding up the canopy on the terrace. Dale and I had to take down the canvas to stop it whipping against the glass doors and possibly ripping. We had a quiche made fresh from a baker in the village for dinner, as well as a tomato-flavoured quishe-like pie that is referred to as a form of tart. The difference is that real “quiche” only includes egg, ham, milk, cream, and cheese. Baker Adrien had also made a yogurt cake for dessert and we each had a huge chunk; I could have eaten it until I burst.

That night Dale and I agonized over how we could continue our trip from here. Is seemed that getting to Athens from Italy was going to cost us more than we thought, and it would be even worse to get back to Dublin from there. We were not willing to part with 200 euros each to get back to Ireland. In the end we found a possible solution: 200 euros each for an unlimited 15 day bus pass from Eurolines. This means that we could sleep on the bus at night to save ourselves the hostel charges while visiting as many cities as possible, except those in Greece for some reason. The catch is that we must always cross a country’s borders. This means that we can travel from Toulouse to Barcelona, then Barcelona back to Marseilles, then from France to Rome, Rome to Zurich, Switzerland, Zurich back to Venice. We can’t travel from Rome to Venice. Some of the other cities include Prague, Budapest, Amsterdam, and, of course, Dublin. It even includes the cost of ferries.

I was disappointed about Greece because I’ve wanted to go there since learning about it in grade five, but we made a deal that if we don’t go to Greece on this trip we should go for our honeymoon if we get married one day. I do hate how the future is tied-up with money, but at least Dale’s money anxiety is appeased with this bus idea. And it isn’t as if we aren’t used to roughing it and a lack of sleep—but thank goodness for this lovely stay in France between everything. Since the family is going on holidays on the 28th we decided we should start the bus tour on the 27th and not be so rushed. We’re both already sad at the idea of leaving on Tuesday. We love it here, and the end date has come up far too soon.

The adventure today included driving into Castillon to pick up pizza. It took Dale a while to figure out that he had to pull up on the gear stick in order to reverse, then we flew down the country roads while he tried to remember what side of the road he needed to stay on in the village. It wasn’t much different than driving at home, really, but Dale was happy to be behind the wheel again. For me, I was happy to think that I’m developing an ear for French. Or, at least, I’m developing an understanding of what lingo goes along with ordering food. I’m also much more relaxed when it comes to these situations compared with how I used to be. I think travelling all year has been pretty good for me. Oddly enough, it reminds me of reading Harry Potter as a kid and wondering how on earth he could “just go with it.” At that age, I would have been petrified and asking a million questions in the face of floo-powder. Now I think I get it.

The Village of Castillon

After work on Friday we enjoyed my favourite meal so far: raclette. We all sat around the table together with the donkey and dog owning neighbour, Tobias. Adrien gave us a cute and long-winded explanation of how to put our choice of cheeses, meats—including duck—quail eggs, or vegetables onto the little scoops and place them inside the raclette grill to cook while we talked to each other or ate what we last cooked. Since we were taking Saturday off, we got to have the same meal for lunch, but this time we ate in the sunshine on the terrace. Both times the meal started with everyone saying, “Bon appétit!” Traditionally, meals are also supposed to be served first to any female guests, then male guests, then women, followed by the eldest male, and then the next in age, and so on.

Chappelle Saint-Pierre on the top of the hill, and the village of Castillon

The former market street with it's intertwined trees

On Saturday Dale and I spent the morning in the nearby village of Castillon, which was only a twenty minute walk down hilly country roads. The former main street has knobbly old trees woven beautifully together across the road. The market used to be held underneath the intertwined branches, but it now takes places on the street at the bottom of the hill. We went to the hairdresser armed with a note from Amy asking for the haircut Dale wanted, but it turned out that the salon wasn’t open. Instead we went into the tiny grocery store, the 8 à Huit, and picked up some sour candies, Kit-Kat bars, and wine, none of which lasted the week.

One of the only places you shouldn't drink the water, and Dale did

The village from on top of the mountain

After the long, delicious raclette lunch, Alexis and his brother, Nicolas, as well as the two kids, got in the car to take us to a hike nearby. The road was very rough as we made our way up the mountain, but the kids were enjoying a paper fortune-teller we’d made that Adrien turned into an “Eye-Spy” game. The kids struggled a little with the hike, Alexis alternating carrying them on his back most of the way, but they were delighted when we found snow. Before long we had to make treks through it in our inappropriate summer clothing. By the time we had almost reached the second lake, as opposed to the lower one we visited the last Thursday, we came across two other hikers who said the way was completely blocked. We emerged to see the valley practically glittering in the sun behind us, and then a grey stony peak covered with mist directly in front of us. To the right was a snow drift larger than any I have ever seen. This was what blocked the path to the lake. Underneath this, however, was a little stone house. We went inside to find a kitchen, complete with a fireplace, and a ladder leading up to the sleeping area upstairs. Leaning against the cabin was a little hut fully stocked with firewood for anyone who might like to stay overnight. We ate some cookies there at the highest peak we could reach, then turned to head back down. The snow was much more difficult to manoeuvre through on the way back. Dale went ahead and skied. I ended up sliding down the hill less gracefully and had everyone laughing all the way down. Finally back at the car, I enjoyed a lightsaber fight with Adrien before we returned home.

A break at the peak

The cabin and snow drift

We worked on Sunday to make up for the day we took off to go to the lake on Thursday. I enjoy the gardening for the most part, and am not even very surprised by the strange French spiders. Most of the ones I have seen are no bigger than an inch, often brown, and carry a white sack of eggs behind them. The temperature, even when the weather is grey, has been gentle; the hot days are usually paired with the coolest breeze to make them perfectly comfortable. As we work, we can hear cowbells chiming constantly from the cows in the nearby fields, and when it isn’t the cowbells, it’s the church happily chiming out the hour.

On one of the days this week Alexis had to play a phone message for us that he received from Tobias. After his greeting, Tobias hesitantly said, “So…umm…I seem to have…uh…lost my donkey? If you see it…” It was clear that he knew how ridiculous it was going to sound, which just made the rest of us even more amused. The donkey was gone for a few days, but Dale and I saw it back in the driveway with the dogs today. It seems to have just gone off for a bit of fresh grass and alone time, and is now back with his playmates.

Nicolas went home this week, so now it is just us, the kids, and Alexis and Amy. Plus, occasionally, the English gardener, Julian. One day I overheard Alièna, while watching “Frozen” say to her mom, “I think Nicole would like this…” When I saw that she wanted to ask me to come watch it with her but was too shy, I went over and joined her. She explained to me that the characters were, “trouving” Elsa. I love the combination of French-English that she speaks, which I can generally also understand. She clearly has a good grasp of the English language if she knows to add “ing” to the end of the verb, even if it isn’t an English one she’s coming up with. Later in the week I made some cut-out paper dolls with dresses for her, which she decorated creatively with stickers—some sparkly stars, and some zucchinis.

What a suck-up

On this week’s grey Tuesday, Dale and I borrowed some bicycles and went for a ride. We crossed the highway and headed up some steep hills. We didn’t last to the next village, unfortunately. I was disappointed to find that I was not enjoying myself. Every time the bike rode over mere pebbles I thought it was going to skid out, and going down the hills felt far too fast. I was constantly holding down the brakes. In the end we turned back. I’m hoping when we get home to Canada I’ll be able to ride my back on the flat ground and remember how much fun I used to have before breaking my cheekbone. We returned for dinner, had a nice crusteau for dessert, which is a thin, flaky apple pie topped with sugar, then went to bed. As I was reading I was very happy to find the two-year-old black cat, Lucky, poking his nose into the room. I coaxed him over so I could pet him, and eventually he curled up at the very end of the bed. By the time morning came around, he was curled up behind my legs.

Last night both cats came into the room. Lucky was up on the bed, and Riley, the shy one, came creeping into the room. I heard him crawling around on the wooden cupboards where our clothes were nicely laid out and decided to get up in case he thought it was a good idea to pee on them. He ran from the room, which I felt bad about, but couldn’t do much to remedy. The next day I realized he had done exactly what I’d thought, before I could get to him. We had to do two loads of laundry, spraying vinegar on all the disgusting clothes before washing it. Luckily, the smell seems to have gone.

A road to Castillon

A Wall Lizard

On the hill next to the chapel

Dale and I walked to the village of Castillon again, hoping he would get his haircut this time. The shop was a tiny white room at the bottom of a three-story building that opened onto the small sidewalk. Since everyone seems to take two hour lunch breaks here, we went up to the overlooking church, the 16th Century Chappelle Saint-Pierre. There was a beautiful view of the village from its perch, and the church itself was stone, with a flat old saint carved next to the door. I wandered up high wooden steps to peak into the bell tower, but all the doors were locked. When we went back down to Castillon, we found out that there were no available appointments with the hairdresser. Or, at least, that’s what we thought she said. I had to resort to saying, “Lundi, Mardi: Monday, Tuesday?” and the hairdresser said, “Oui! Tuesday.” Now Dale has an appointment set up for his French haircut. We sat on the wide tiered steps by the fountain and the interlinked trees as we read our books for a while, thinking the 8 à Huit would be open soon after the two hour lunch break. Fifteen minutes after it was supposed to reopen there was still no sign of anyone, so we returned home for lunch. While I was digging in the fridge, Riley came quite close to me, and, realizing I wasn’t Ami, hissed three times. Annoyed, I hissed back. Then, slightly abashed, I realized that that was probably the end of any potential relationship with that cat.

The village of Castillon from the chapel

Hiking to another chapel

One of the cabins

Dale and I started our walk towards another chapel on a nearby hill, and found that it was more of a hike than a walk. Naturally, we got lost. There were forks and forks in all the paths. Eventually we started stumbling on crumbled, ivy-covered, one-room stone houses. Out of the forest, we even found barns. In one particular meadow there was a house and barn that had been left unlocked. Much like the cabin on top of the mountain, there was a kitchen down below, and a sleeping area up top. Alexis and Amy told us that families often herd the cattle to the mountains in the summer and make a trip of it. We surmised that these houses were waiting for their summer occupants. We didn't make it to the church this time, but by the time we returned home it was after seven. We ate dinner on the terrace with a glass of wine each, and watched the sun set over the mountains. Then, as I put down “World Without End” in the living room later, Riley surprised me by wandering right over, purring, and rubbing his head on the laptop. I guess he needed a little tough love! I’m still not letting him back in the bedroom though.

Inside the cabin

Worth getting lost over

At Home in the French Pyrénées

We arranged our taxi to the airport the night before our flight, so we were able to get up, get changed, and get in the cab with about three hours of sleep after sitting up with Heather and Anne until late. The flight was painless because we were tired enough not to care that there was a whole boys’ team of young soccer players shouting across to each other and kicking our seats. We arrived to a uniform grey sky at 9:30am; we had forgotten that time would jump forward an hour. Both of us were a little bit stumped when it came to ordering breakfast at the airport, but we had an hour bus ride ahead of us to get right into Paris so we couldn’t wait. Eventually we stepped up to the counter and I ordered sandwiches according to the labels and with as few other words as possible. The lady behind the counter looked only slightly tolerant despite our apologetic smiles. We figured out what bus stop we needed based on our hostel directions, and bought our tickets to Paris from a guy who spoke just enough English. Then we ate the delicious baguette-sandwiches and slept.

When the bus arrived in Paris there were few signs showing us where the Metro was, but with a little walking we eventually figured it out. Unfortunately we had to wait in line for tickets for almost an hour because the machines were broken. We purchased two-day unlimited passes for 17 euros each. By the time we finally arrived near our hostel in the Gare de l’est area, and then walked to it, we were a little disappointed to find out our room wasn’t even ready. We had to leave our backpacks with the receptionist, who we figured out spoke English after a moment’s hesitation and an attempted, “Bonjour.” Both of us wanted coffee, but we didn’t know where to go or what to say, so we wandered around our hostel scoping out the area. We were right beside a police station and surrounded by about a hundred hair salons full of black women. Both of us got tired of being timid when faced with ordering our drinks, so eventually we went into a café that turned out to be expensive. The first waitress we spoke to reverted to English when I asked, “Pardon?” after her speedy greetings. The second waiter, when I asked in French if I could speak English, replied, “Don’t try.” We weren’t sure if he was being rude or saying, “Don’t strain yourself, I can speak English.” But based on the reputation of the French that had been impressed upon us before leaving, we had reason to doubt. Overall we found the Parisians intimidating, although the hints we had heard about them didn’t help.

Our bidet

It started to pour as we drank our coffees and ate a side of fries, so we stalled as long as we could, enjoying how happy the staff was when someone they knew brought a puppy inside. When it dried up we found a Supermarché then finally got to go up to our room. We were surprised to find, not a shared bathroom, but a sink and “bidet” at the foot of our bed. At first we thought the bidet was a rectangular-shaped toilet. I had never heard it before, but had no intention of using it instead of toilet paper. Despite the coffee, we both ended up napping for an hour, which was nice because we planned to stay out late enough to see the Eiffel Tower in lights. After making our purchases at the Supermarché, we got on the Metro, stopped at a hardware store for a French adapter, and then walked to the tower. By now the sun had come out, so we were able to walk through the leafy park under the tower, marvel at the mass of other people standing under the enormous construction, and then have a picnic in the field in front of it. We were struck by how strange it is that the actual place was so different from the ideas we had formed based on photos. It has happened time and time again, and it really makes me appreciate how varied and surprising the world can be.

Romance

Our picnic consisted of a five euro bottle of red wine, some brie, Philadelphia cream cheese, crackers, sliced meats, sour coke bottles, and chocolate chip cookies. This, plus a bottle of white wine, only cost us 20 euros and lasted for lunch the next day. The weather was gorgeous during our meal, but chilly when the wind came by, and annoying when guys selling alcohol kept harassing us when we clearly had drinks already. But I enjoyed watching all the other tourists taking their silly pictures; especially the father-daughter and father-son pictures, which were very cute.

The Eiffel Tower

When we were finished, we wandered under the tower and across the road. Almost in the middle of traffic was an Asian bride and groom posing for what would clearly be beautiful wedding photos. We strolled across the bridge and went for a walk across from the tower as we waited for the lights to turn on as the sky turned to deep blue. Then we sat on the wall and simply took it in. Later, when I was sitting on the wall looking away and the deep blue sky turned nearly black, a little girl beside me exclaimed in awe, “Oh wow!” I turned back to the tower to see it flashing and sparkling, putting me in mind of nothing so much as bright diamonds. Somehow no one has ever mentioned to me that the tower does that. I gasped, “Oh my gosh!” like a child myself. We spotted the bride and groom by the water, with the bride now in a flowing red gown. After a few peaceful minutes the lights faded back to normal, and we began the journey home.

Notre Dame Cathedral

Dale with the Louvre's inverted pyramid

The Louvre

Jardine Des Tuileries

Champs-Élysées

We had a late start the next day, so we ate croissants, pain du chocolat, and clementines from the Supermarché, then took the Metro to the Louvre, but realized we could make a stop for Notre Dame. The line was huge, but it didn't take long to get inside the cathedral. I couldn't judge whether it was bigger than Yorkminster, which I saw in 2007, but it was certainly spacious up to the ceiling, and the stained glass windows were stunning in how expansive they were, if nothing else. As for the Louvre, we didn’t feel like exploring the gallery when it was so beautiful outside and so expensive inside, so we took just took photos and then had lunch and wine right outside at the Jardins Des Tuileries, which was peaceful except that I saw a rat while Dale was feeding the birds. Afterwards we walked straight out onto the leafy-treed Champs-Élysées, passing by expensive shops, until we reached the Arc de Triomphe. It was surprising how close together all these sights were. We could even see the Eiffel Tower. However, we were exhausted by the time we reached the Arc de Triomphe because that is a long walk. We stopped at a MacDonald’s for a drink—where I thought I communicated pretty well in French, whether necessary or not—and had our drinks at the tables outside.

Arc de Triomphe

Moulin Rouge et moi

Then I realized we still needed to see the Moulin Rouge and the Catacombs, but we had no idea where they were. We wandered around pointlessly until we were too tired not to eat. We had planned on stopping at the Supermarché, but it was closed. We ended up at Sushiramma, where the Asian waiter and I communicated more comfortably in French than I had with any other Parisian. We were happy with the price, as well as the quantity and quality of the sushi. When we had figured out where Moulin Rouge was, we took the Metro, then wandered in the wrong direction twice before reaching it. We didn’t go in, again because it is supposed to be so expensive, but I was happy to have seen that sight, if not the catacombs. If there’s a next time we will have to explore them then.

We were up bright and early the next day to check out, get breakfast, take the Metro to the train, and then take the train to Toulouse. But again the store was closed, this time because it was so early on Sunday. We ended up waiting until we had reached the train, where I again communicated fairly well with the baker-looking man, who was probably the friendliest Frenchman we came across. The train to Toulouse was peaceful. We ate our sandwiches, drank our cappuccinos, and then I went to sleep the second I started to feel sick from sitting backwards. When I woke up I felt fine again. I spent the rest of the trip listening to music, watching the startling amount of greenery passing by, and feeling comfortably like we had no time limits for once.

When we arrived in Toulouse the sun was blazing down on the pale brown, red, and beige buildings. If it weren’t for the language I would have thought we were in Spain. Every now and then for the next two days my senses were enjoyably confused. Dale and I soaked up the sun like we hadn't seen it in ten months. Even if that wasn't true, it sure felt that way. We at least haven't had warmth like that in months! We bought a day pass for the Metro and headed for our hostel. The area seemed a little sketchy, but it wasn’t too hard to find. We entered through a gate with a code rather than a door, and waited upstairs for the receptionist to show up whenever she pleased. She turned out to be helpful when she did finally arrive. We dropped off our stuff in the eight-bedroom dorm that had two separate showers and a toilet, then we wandered down to the Canal du Midi, which is supposedly the oldest canal in Europe, then strolled along the River Garonne.

River Garonne

After stopping for awkwardly ordered Subway despite the cashier speaking English in the end, we headed down some stone steps to a grassy area where artists were selling their work. From this point on we found the French more patient and friendly with English-speakers. Eventually we walked through the narrow streets looking for a hat for Dale, which we never did find, and cheap food. It was so hot that we settled on McFlurries, which we ordered using a computer, effectively negating the language barrier. We ate sitting on a lip of the Capitole’s wall, then went back to our hostel where we ate the leftover Subway in a garden area at the back before returning to the river. We spent the rest of the evening lounging in the grass with people playing violins, flutes, or drinking. As the air got cooler we returned to watch “Game of Thrones” through earphones and go to sleep.

The War Monument

The next day we would meet our hosts for the rest of the month, but check-out was so early in comparison that we had to carry our backpacks around with us all day. The sky was brilliantly blue again, which made it more tiring, but we found ourselves a crêpe shop that was just opening and which served as our first break. This is where I spoke the best French yet, even conjugating my verbs properly. We ate the Nutella-covered treats at tiny picnic tables directly on the street. Eventually we made it to the World War monument honouring the dead, and sat and ate chips we had bought in a convenience store. Behind us was the Toulouse Cathedral. Following this we entered the colourful Jardin Royal and sat in a giant gazebo, then crossed a bridge to le Jardin de Plantes where we sprawled in the sun and read until we ready to search for ice-cream and meet up with our host. On the way we saw rooster and chickens wandering free. The cashier who sold us our ice-cream outside of the park ran the back of her hand over her forehead when I asked her to repeat, “Il est chaude?” to which we replied, “Oui!” It probably wasn’t too bad out, but to be fair our backpacks and side-bags were weighing us down.

Jardin Royal

At last we texted Amy, our host, who we arranged to meet on a street corner. I felt a little nervous as we waited for silver car after silver car to go by, but we knew immediately when Amy had arrived by her enthusiast waving. She pulled over and got out to greet us, saying she was relieved to spot us and is always worried she won’t find her Helpers. We had been wearing our backpacks to make it more obvious. We drove for an hour and half to Amy’s home in the hills, and the whole way there. I was torn between the conversation and the hills, trees, and tiny stone villages we passed along the way.

Amy explained that she is from California, while her French husband also grew up there, and their two kids are able to speak fluent French and English as a result. Both blonde parents have “eco-science” jobs and spend time in both countries. When we arrived in their village, after driving up narrow winding roads, the first sight we were met with was Tobias ambling up the hill towards us with his daughter, their massive donkey, and their two large white dogs. It turns out many people in the village speak English, some of whom are English or Australian. Two of Amy's former English-speaking Helpers loved their experience so much that they rent our hosts’ old house just down the road. As Amy spoke to Tobias, a jogger ran past with a, “Bonjour!” then dunked his hands in a trough of water on the side of the road and dumped it all over his head. Amy later told us that you can drink the water from wherever because it is from such a pure underground source. It wasn’t even until the  ’50s that people stopped “fetching a pail of water” and had it installed in their houses. I was excited to find water that tasted like home somewhere else in the world, especially now that chemicals have been added back home.

Our room

We walked down a steep hill to the house, which we enter through the side because someone else lives in the front section. The house apparently used to belong to the local bear trainer. Pushing open the heavy wood door, Ami showed us into a skinny ski-lodge-type front room, then the main kitchen/living room area. Our own room was up a flight of the world’s noisiest stairs to the top of the house. There is a large bathroom there, and angled ceilings. Our room is white, enormous compared to what we are used to, and, also unlike what we are used to, has a king-sized bed. The floors in the entire house are the ceilings for the rooms below, so we have to be quiet, but we find it private enough being on a different floor from everyone else. The view out our window is phenomenal. We overlook the grassy backyard and the fields beyond, which lead right up to the Pyrénées mountains and their snow.

The Pyrénées Mountains

We went for a walk with Amy and the two kids, Adrien, seven, and Alièna, four. Incidentally, I had guessed Adrien’s name before meeting him, knowing nothing but that it began with an “a.” Alièna zoomed around the hills on her scooter, while Amy said bonjour to everyone she passed. We walked out of the closely built stone houses with Max, an old lion-pawed village dog who decided to come along. My impression of that walk was of dazzling golden sunlight and glowing green leaves. When we got in bed that night I found a spider crawling across the sheets overtop of me, but it’s mostly been flies since then. Apparently it’s because the French don’t like screens over their windows, and because we are in a rural area with plenty of cows.

We chatted with our hosts and Alexis’ brother over a Swedish meal—as in Ikea, which was funny—then went straight to bed. The kids eat earlier than we do. The next day Dale and I woke up after our hosts had taken the kids to their activity for the week they have off of school and went to work themselves. We found tools in the Cave (cav) under the house, with the help of Julien, the English gardener who works once per week. It was awkward trying to figure out if he spoke English or not, but in the end Nicolas, Alexis’ brother clued us in by saying we could ask him any questions we might have about our work. The work itself was five hours of weeding the raspberry patches and using a drill to destroy a stone planter filled where they want to put in a staircase between their decks. We traded on and off throughout the day, transporting the broken stones to the pond beside the house, and had a 40 minute lunch of leftovers. We found mostly slugs, some spiders, and one little wall lizard. I dropped a huge rock on my finger, which made me feel sick but wasn't a bad injury otherwise. The sky was grey, which Amy said is normal this time of year. I’m regretting listening to Dale and only bringing one pair of jeans; Heather and Anne were right to tell me that I was crazy.

Dinner that night was a specially-prepared French ratatouille from Nicolas. He even cooked all the layers of vegetables separately. As we ate we heard a peeping sound outside, which Amy explained was the mother frog that carries her babies on her back. It sounded like a phone beep, but was quite cute.

We had planned to get up earlier the next day, but failed again. Amy left us a note with some inside chores in case it rained outside, but luckily the weather held up and we finished transporting the plants from the plantar to the garden and taking down the wall. Alièna stayed the night at her friends house, and Nicolas went to visit his wife, so we ate dinner of Quiche, salad, and sweet potato fries together. All the dinners have been fantastic so far. There was still a small measure of awkwardness between us, but the next day helped with that.

Lac Bethmale

Playing at the water's edge

Amy took us to a village on another hill to pick up some local kids and go to the Lac de Bethmale. It was a bright day once again, so it was a perfect trade for working on Saturday. That village was across a skinny bridge where the river ran past houses that looked like they belonged in another century. Of course, they do. We ended up having more than eight kids with us at the lake for most of the day. We caught tadpoles and toads, had a picnic, and hiked through the woods. A slight mood-killer, on the way back we passed three men on the side of the road trying to pull a dead calf from its labouring mother using a rope around its neck. The kids were a little confused by that, but probably less disturbed than Amy and I. But the day was mostly cute, with the three-year-old Australian boy adopting me as his helper, and overall the kids being able to warm up to us. They were adorable calling their mothers with, “Maman!” The lake itself was clear and green and reminded me of home in the summertime. When we returned, Alexis let us stroke a mother chickadee he was tagging for work.

Watching a toad swim in the bucket

Au Revoir

On Friday I said goodbye to some of my favourite people at work because they were heading off to Amsterdam. Most of the others I was able to invite to a party at Dicey’s on Sunday, so I didn’t actually say goodbye. In the evening Dale and I got the bus into town to go for dinner with Niall, Leonie, and Fionnuala at a tapas place called The Port House.  It was a tiny black building sandwiched between the other restaurants. We went downstairs where the walls were all stone like a castle, and sat in a corner where we proceeded to order the most delicious tapas. My favourite was honey-covered, deep-fried cheese balls that we didn’t even remember ordering, and the flavourful prawn kebabs. Three pitchers of sangria later, as well as delectable sugar-doughnuts with melted chocolate on the side, and the bill was over 200 euros. It was a good thing we were splitting it! Overall it was a fun evening, but it still wasn’t goodbye since we would be seeing Fionnuala when we visited Rosaleen and Vincent on Tuesday, and we still have some borrowed items of Niall and Leonie’s.

Saturday was the last day I ever had to hoover (vacuum) the stupid restaurant, and I was gradually getting more excited to be finished for good. Sunday, my official last day of work, was very busy. I was running around consistently and Nick actually came over when he had a chance to help and said, “I feel so sorry for you!” But in the end it was the last day, so I kept my eyes on the light at the end of the tunnel. Then it was time to turn in my uniform, key cards, and nametag—after Heather and Rachael traded for the pieces of it they needed. I thanked John again for calling to check on me at the hospital, said, “see you tonight,” to a bunch of people and gave hugs all around. I laughed when even Katie came running over for a hug.

One of Ocen's photos from Dicey's

That night Dale and I walked to Dicey’s, picking up cheese fries along the way, but still didn’t make it into the club before the free 7:00 entrance. The line-up was massive, and the crowds inside were already pretty happy with the two euro drink deal. It wasn’t long until the rest of us where happy as well. Katie was the only one from work who was actually able to make it, but I suppose that means I avoided having to say goodbye to a lot of people. We sat outside under the blue sky for a long time, but eventually the dance floor was calling. It was a fantastic night. Katie kept coming back for hugs when we headed outside, but I’m positive I’ll be seeing her again, even if it is in Hawaii after she moves there in September! Dale and I went for Zaytoons afterwards, and didn’t get to sleep until 3:30 in the morning. But I didn’t have to work the next day!

It has been strangely hard to grasp that I never have to go to work at the hotel again. I wish it was. Nevertheless, I have been enjoying my days off. I think the problem is that everything is coming to an end, not just work. Monday meant it was our last Fitz night, where we laughed to find out that at least one of our number couldn’t even remember getting home after Dicey’s. On Tuesday we went for dinner at Rosaleen and Vincent’s. We got to play with Sennan in the bright sunshine for a while, and, as usual, had an amazing meal. We avoided saying goodbye since we will be back in June, at least for a few days. That June visit is really messing with my perception.

We officially bought our tickets home! It cost us 350 euros each for June 14th, with one two hour stop in London, which is not nearly as bad as the other flights. We’re quite happy with that price since it is what we’d been budgeting for all along. We visited Lisa at USIT, who told us there’s no point doing our taxes until I have my P45 from finished at the hotel. Since I still haven’t received anything that will unfortunately be on our to-do list in June, which also includes shutting down our bank account. Vincent said we should be able to receive our taxes in the form of a cheque, so that shouldn’t be too much of a problem.

Dale and Dublin Castle

We did a thorough cleaning and hiding of our belongings so the inconveniently-close-to-our-departure visit from the landlord wouldn’t reveal that there were too many people in the house. Dale and I made ourselves scarce by heading for a day in town. It started out sunny, but by the time we arrived at the Grand Opening of Brant’s new bakery—Krüst, where he is the manager—it started to pour. The tiny shop was packed with people. We ordered a pizza and had two of the most delicious vanilla lattes made by a famous barista. Unfortunately we didn’t get to meet Little Finger, who Brant had served in the day before! We then had no choice but to go into thrift, antique, and book shops all over Dublin in order to stay out of the downpour. We even visited Dublin Castle again, since Dale hadn’t seen the view from the garden yet. I also remembered from watching “Michael Collins” that inside the courtyard was where the English officially handed Ireland back to the Irish.

We bought a cheap pocket French-English dictionary from Chapters, then found a sushi place called Ukiyo Bar, which had a nice view of Exchequer Street and where they served us free miso soup while we waited for our meals. Dale and I have been bickering quite a bit recently—probably a combination of having no time to actually talk in private plus always having something on the to-do list—so it was nice to find ourselves talking excitedly for a few hours over a story idea he had. When we figured it was about time to move on, we went to MacDonald’s for dessert, then met up with everyone at Cassidy’s for Alysia’s last night. She’s off for five weeks in Italy (maybe we can meet up with her!) before going home to B.C., just like us. It was nice to have someone going through the same leaving experience at the same time as us. I think it may have seemed more real to her, however, since her last day was to follow, while ours was two the day after. The funny thing is that she is also coming back to Ireland in June before finally going home. After a few pints and some signing of goodbye books and coasters, Dale, Heather, Anne, and I made a pit-stop at Subway before catching the bus home.

Crazy at Cassidy's

Now the big day that ends our official “living in Dublin” experience is tomorrow. We leave the house for Paris at 4:30am. I feel very grateful for having friends who care enough about us to have hosted us for a month, as well as all the ones who came out to celebrate and see us off. I really am going to miss them all. But I’m really looking forward to the next step, and I have my fingers crossed for that little reunion in June—and beyond because let’s face it…our friends are the awesome type of people who rock at this travel-thing!