I don’t think I’ve brought enough diapers or sleepers in our carry-on. We have a 24-hour journey ahead of us that involves planes, trams, trains and cars. Was this explosive start to the trip a foreshadow of what was to come?

Preparing for the Trip

I was really anxious about flying with Phoenix. In his first months of life, we had barely left the house, and when we had, we had found it more complicated than expected. The mass of stuff we had to lug around on outing, the endless pit-stops for nursing and diaper changes, the car-seat and car-ride-related meltdowns… It was just easier to stay home.

Suffice to say, then, that Bruno and I hadn’t had much practice in the travel-with-baby department.

To counter this, we decided to prepare as best we could for the journey. We imagined the most complicated part – getting from the airport to the train station and into the train with baby and luggage. So, even though we were allowed an extra suitcase and carry-on for Phoenix, we opted to bring only what our four hands could carry. That meant two backpacks as carry-on luggage, two rolling suitcases , and a stroller.

Our luggage for the trip.

At least half our luggage was for Phoenix (think 30 reusable cloth diapers!), and our carry-ons were loaded with four extra sleepers (the easiest clothing to put on in a pinch), toys, books, swaddle blankets, two baby carriers, and 12 disposable diapers for the flight. I was very happy Phoenix is a breastfed baby, as we didn’t need to calculate the amount of formula we’d need for the journey – it was already enough trouble to calculate the amount of diapers and clothing changes (and, as the scenario above illustrates, I underestimated in both cases).

Phoenix had never been in a stroller, and he is the type of baby who needs a bit of time to warm up to something new, we knew we didn’t want his first time in the stroller to be at the airport. When we received it, we wheeled him around my parents’ home, and took him out as soon as he fussed. The next day, we went for a walk outside (I ended up holding him for about half that walk). By the time we left for the airport a few days later, Phoenix had been on 5 walks, had fallen asleep in the stroller once, and looked happy and comfortable inside. Score!

Trying out Phoenix’ new stroller before our trip.

He fell asleep! For Phoenix, that’s big – that means he likes his stroller!

From Canada to France at 3 Months Old

The theme of this section of the trip was boob. Phoenix was so overwhelmed by the noise on the flights and the commotion at the Montreal Airport that, for the entire 7-hour overseas flight, he clung to my breast. The few times I tried passing Phoenix to Bruno so I could rest more comfortably (it was a red-eye) or go to the bathroom, Phoenix cried. We realized he simply needed my reassurance and comfort. I wasn’t comfortable (!) but I was very grateful, again, to be a nursing mama. And at least changing pressure during take off and landing were non-issues for Phoenix!

Near the end of the flight, we were able to place Phoenix in his swaddles on my seat, and Bruno and I took turns walking up and down the aisle while the other sat. We had tried to reserve the bulkhead seats so we could access one of two baby bassinets this flight offered, but another passenger had paid extra to reserve those roomier seats. I was appalled that Air Canada would sell those seats to the highest bidder rather than providing them to parents of infants.

Phoenix, asleep on the airplane.

Phoenix’ first flight, at exactly 3 months old.

Near the end of the flight I gave Phoenix my seat. Too bad we didn’t have the baby bassinet.

From Lyon, we picked up our luggage and took a tram to the train station, where we had to wait a few hours for our train. The train station was even more chaotic than the Montreal airport. There was only one small [paying] bathroom area with no change tables, and there was hardly any seating space to rest or nurse. Luckily, we found a service called S.O.S. Voyageurs run by a few old ladies – they had a change table and allowed us to spend a couple hours in their tiny lounge until our train arrived. Thank goodness, too, because Phoenix had three back-to-back giant poops!

Though getting all our luggage onto the train was a challenge, the train ride was probably the easiest portion of the journey. On some segments, we had an entire cabin to ourselves (the train service in France is on partial strike so the trains were empty!) allowing us to spread out, play, use the stroller, and do diaper-changes on location. On the longest train ride, Phoenix was once again glued to my breast, where he slept and ate quietly almost the entire journey.

Phoenix on his first train.

Passed out a few minutes later.

Overall, the journey had been easier (though still stressful and complicated) than I’d imagined, mainly because Phoenix had been so overwhelmed that he was fairly easy to manage. During the times he wasn’t – when we were on the move in airports and train stations – we were very grateful to have our baby carrier. Phoenix finds refuge and sleep more easily when in his orange wrap than anywhere else, so the baby carrier provided a practical, hands-free reset for him while we dealt with luggage and transit. Our stroller, while useful at times, was more often than not a backpack carrier than anything.

The Return Journey, with a Four-Month Old

You know how they say that, with a baby, as soon as you’ve figured things out, they change? Well, that was the theme of our return journey.

Since Phoenix had been so overwhelmed by plane and travel travel a few weeks earlier, we expected him to, once again, cling to my breast and hover between sleeping and nursing the entire trip.

He did the complete opposite.

First, we took a train north, from Montpellier to Lyon. Phoenix was wide awake and wanting a lot of attention. He refused to nurse and refused to sleep. But he also didn’t want to stay put in our arms or seat. Every few minutes we had to change his position and activity. Talk about a high-maintenance baby!

This is what Phoenix wide awake looks like. Scary!

At least we had first class seats on the train. Lots of space to play with our high-maintenance boy.

At the Lyon airport, Phoenix was also wide awake, and looking less traumatized than in Montreal a month earlier. I’m guilty of wishing that he’d become overwhelmed by the hubbub so that he’d nestle himself into the safety of my breast for the return flight. I’d learned on the train ride that, even though I’m less comfortable with a baby stuck onto me for an entire journey, it’s a lot less work!

My wish was not granted. Phoenix was just as high-maintenance on the plane as he’d been on the train – only this time, the journey was much longer! Thankfully we had managed to secure the bulkhead seats, along with the baby bassinet, for the Lyon-Montreal flight, so I was able to get him down for two little naps (although during turbulence I had to pull him out and hold him). And we also luckily had an empty middle seat which we used to change Phoenix’ position and activity every couple of minutes. So, we were more comfortable and better equipped for this flight.

But I don’t know if it was because Phoenix was older, it was daytime, or if, after all the trains and planes, he was no longer traumatized by them, but he didn’t need refuge on my breast. In fact, he didn’t want to nurse at all, even during takeoff and landing, so I ended up sticking my finger in his mouth so he would suck on something to help him equalize.

Keeping Phoenix occupied on the plane ride home.

Putting Phoenix down for a nap in the plane’s baby bassinet.

Good thing no one was sat in the middle seat, because we sure did take up a lot of space!

He also had several more explosive poops, dirtying three sleepers almost back-to-back (almost always during turbulence or landing, when we couldn’t go change him right away!). Not to gross you out or anything, but during our journey a month earlier, Phoenix had had 8 poops in that 24-hour period, and this time he’d had 4 on a 7-hour flight. Either it’s a coincidence that he had a tummy ache each time (maybe stress-related?) or something about the altitude and air pressure made him a pooping machine!

A Note About Jet Lag

In our experience, Phoenix suffered more from jet lag on the return trip, or the westbound trip. Perhaps it was just the timing of our flights, but by the time we arrived at Bruno’s brother’s place in France around 6pm the following day, Phoenix was so exhausted that he passed out for the night almost immediately. This meant that he acclimatized to the local time fairly quickly. Maybe he was a bit more wakeful at night for a week or so, but he definitely didn’t go through any day and night confusion.

On the way home, we arrived around 5pm local time, and by the time we got Phoenix to bed for the night it was almost midnight in France. Contrary to what some people might think, when a baby goes to sleep late, they don’t sleep in the next morning. Because Phoenix’ internal clock was on France time, he wanted to wake up in the morning… on France time. It didn’t help that we are on the longest days of the year and that our bedroom here doesn’t get dark. It took several days to get Phoenix to sleep in until 6:30am, and as I write these words a week after our return, his nights are wonky.

What We’ve Learned about Travel with a Baby

Jet lag is real. And when your baby has jet lag, yours takes forever to go away.

Pack more diapers and sleepers than you imagine you could ever need. Your baby might have explosive-poop-in-air syndrome, too, and that way you’ll avoid having to blow dry baby clothes in the airport bathroom!

Changing Phoenix’ diaper on the airplane.

That being said, pack as lightly as possible. Unless you are going straight from a car to a plane and to a car. Which I’d recommend.

Strollers are very useful for travel. Baby carriers are even better. Have both.

Babies are heavy. And needy. Four arms are barely enough for one baby.

Airports and train stations are not made for babies. It’s hard to find a quiet, discrete place to nurse, and almost impossible to find a change table. So get comfortable with having your boobs and your baby’s poopy private parts out in the open!

Nursing Phoenix at the departure gate.

Thank God for that baby wrap!!!

Finding an actual changing table is not easy!

If your baby is a good night sleeper but a bad napper, try to book red eye flights. You’ll have more luck keeping baby asleep. A sleeping baby is a low-maintenance baby. An angel, really. God, I love a sleeping baby.

So, Would We Fly With a Baby Again?

The short answer is, of course. We have no choice. We live away from our families, so air travel, train travel, and overseas travel will be a yearly part of our lives.

But, if we didn’t have to travel to see our families? Like, if we lived in the same cities and only needed to take trains and planes for fun? Hell, no!

Maybe that’s jet-lagged Brittany talking. But, honestly, it was exhausting (as if overseas travel isn’t exhausting enough). Phoenix was overwhelmed, I felt terrible for putting him through the trip, and it took us long enough to recover that a fun short holiday would have been marred by jet lag.

The long answer is this: Train travel isn’t so bad. The seats are larger and at least you can walk around the aisles anytime you want. Short flights are fine, too. A fussy, high-maintenance baby isn’t the end of the world for a couple hours. If the trip has to be long, break it up into smaller segments and have an excuse to transit in a new place. If god-forbid, the flight needs to be long, make it a north-south trip so jet lag isn’t a factor. And if, like us, your family lives in a faraway time zone, convince them to fly to you instead!

Mama’s yawning. This is gonna be a looooooong trip.

I like my baby bassinet!

It’s not just because I’m traveling again – after a two-month travel hiatus – that I’m so happy, nor is it simply because I’m in a new and exciting city.

I’m so happy because two of my best friends in the world are about to join me in Europe for a ten-day reunion!

Erin (middle) and Alex (right), two of my very best friends.

The three musketeer, exploring Europe together! :)

I met Alex and Erin almost a decade ago in Bangkok, Thailand.  We had all arrived mid-school-year to teach English at a private bilingual school in the city.  Though our time together in Thailand was brief, we took full advantage of school holidays to explore the region, creating lifelong memories along the way (one of my best ever was camping on a deserted island in the Philippines with Erin; I’ve also had a few epic trips with Alex since then, most notably to Egypt and Zimbabwe).

Alex now lives in Singapore and Erin in Washington, DC, so the only time the three of us have been together since Thailand was in 2012 for Erin’s wedding.  Here in Barcelona, all that was about to change.

Three Nights in Barcelona

Barcelona is the perfect backdrop to a girls’ trip.  The city is large, exciting and energizing.  The weather is mild and sunny.  Cafes and tapas bars line the streets – the perfect places to have long lunches.  Which is exactly what we did.  Over glasses of wine and mini tapas plates, we reconnected and filled one another in on each of our lives.  We looked like total locals with our late, lingering meals.

The Gothic Cathedral of Barcelona

Wacky Gaudi architecture.

Palm trees and balmy weather

Erin hadn’t been to Europe in about 14 years, so we did make sure to do a bit of sightseeing.  Most of it involved Antoni Gaudi.  We visited the Sagrada Familia, a cathedral that is perhaps the landmark of Barcelona.  Its construction began over 100 years ago, but, because of its magnitude (and other factors), the cathedral is still not finished.  It is hoped that the structure will be complete by 2026, exactly 100 years after Gaudi’s untimely death.

Our Air BnB was only a 7-minute walk from the Sagrada Familia, so we were lucky to catch a glimpse of its imposing exterior several times and in different light.  Though the interior was celestial, for me, the cathedral is all about its exterior facades and skyscraping arches.  I’m happy we got to soak up the grandiosity of the Sagrada Familia over the course of our three-night stay in Barcelona.

The infamous Sagarada Familia

We did an audio tour inside the Sagarada.

And saw cool things like this very celestial ceiling!

Because our accommodations were just down the road, we got to see the Sagarada Familia in all different types of lighting!

We also visited Gaudi’s Parc Guëll.  The park is massive, but we concentrated our guided visit on the inner Monumental Zone, where you can find a few preserved homes, Gaudi’s infamous mosaic salamander, and the old viaducts.  We were so lucky that it was warm and clear, and so we stayed long enough to sun ourselves, and to catch an epic view of the entire city, with the Mediterranean Sea in the background.

Admiring the panoramic of Barcelona from atop Parc Guëll.

The famous mosaic salamander at Parc Guëll.

The lovely viaducts.

Some of the funky Gaudi buildings inside the Monumental Zone.

With the rest of our time in Barcelona, we wandered fairly aimlessly around the city (talking, of course, all the while).  We went to Barceloneta, the area of town where locals congregate along the city beach.  It was pretty happening on this Saturday afternoon, with hawkers set up along the wharf and bands performing on the street.  We had an al fresco drink, Alex got a mini-massage, and we dipped our toes in the Mediterranean as we watched an incredible lightning show in the sky over the sea.

We also wandered around the alleys off Las Ramblas, in the Gothic area.  We stumbled upon the Catedral de Barcelona, a small farmer’s market selling cheese and wine and honey, and we feasted on the best churros y chocolate in town.

We ate really well throughout our trip, actually (thanks to Erin, who had done her research).  Our first evening we dined at La Yaya Amelia, where we had a tasty (and affordable) three-course meal.  Funnily, the restaurant was almost entirely empty at 8pm, but started to get packed as we left around 10pm.  Our final afternoon, we stumbled upon Arume Restaurante, a super popular and funky place famous for its paella.  Amazing food and ambiance.  I highly recommend both!

Churros y chocolate, with some more chocolate on the side (cuz why not?)

Tapas!!!

Arume, a delish restaurant.

Paella, and an amazing artichoke dish, at Arume.

A Night in Carcassonne

From Barcelona, we took the train to Carcassonne, France.  I had long wanted to visit this city, as it has a massive medieval Unesco World Heritage fortress on its hill.  On the day we arrived, we were shocked by the wind and plummeting temperatures, but we braved it and visited the fortress, anyway.

Actually, I didn’t plan the trip very well.  In the off-season, the castle and ramparts close by 5pm, and we were too late arriving to enjoy the recommended two-hour visit.  We were happy to know we could still walk around the outskirts of the ramparts, which allowed us to get sweeping views of the city.  The buildings sported the same red Roman tiles as the roofs in the south of France, but because of the dampness here, the red has gone a greenish grey.  I like that you can tell which region of France you’re in based on the color of the roofs!

View of Carcassonne from the fortress ramparts.

Lots of cafes inside the fortress, but not the weather for sitting outside!!!

Carcassonne’s picturesque fortress walls.

Happy to find out we could walk the perimeter of the ramparts!

Carcassonne’s Cité is full of kitsch tourist shops, which doesn’t make for the most authentic experience.  I think tourism has ruined what could have been a very charming village.  But what makes Carcassonne absolutely worth the visit is a view of the fortress walls at night.  The place looks like a Disney fairy tale castle and it’s hard to believe that, not only is this place real, but it’s 1000 years old.

Fairy tale castle, right?

Erin is the selfie queen.

Carcassonne at night – the highlight of our time there.

When in Carcassonne, one must try the regional dish of cassoulet, a white bean and meat stew.  Because it was Monday, the restaurant our Air BnB hosts had recommended was closed, but the girls still managed to try the dish at the only restaurant open in the “nouvelle cite” (for one should never try cassoulet in the fortress).  Then, because it was cold and our apartment was just so darn cute, we bought wine, cheese, charcuterie, and chocolate mousse, and headed home for a proper French girls’ night.  I’m so glad Air BnB exists, as we were able to find lovely private apartments at each destination, which maximized the time we could spend simply being together.

Cassoulet, Carcassone’s infamous dish.

And our nightcap at our lovely Air BnB. :)

Two Nights in Bordeaux

This city was high on Erin’s destination list, because she’s totally in love with Bordeaux wine.  Our first afternoon there, we simply wandered around the old town, which is mostly pedestrian streets and funky shops and brasseries.  Because it was still so cold, we had a hot beverage under the heat lamp overlooking a cathedral and a square.  It felt very French.

That evening, we visited L’école du Vin, where we could sample glasses or flights of wine from the Bordeaux area.  The staff was knowledgeable, the environment sophisticated, the glasses affordable, and the pours generous.  I loved it, and Erin was in absolute heaven.

Bordeaux’ Old Town.

We sat outside sipping on hot beverages with a view of this lovely cathedral.

Bordeaux’ classy pedestrian streets, lined with boutiques.

The next day, we decided to make her dream of visiting a real Bordeaux château come true.  We hopped on a local train to St. Emilion, one of the most famous wine-making regions of Bordeaux.  We had no plan and no idea what to expect, but the village was so charming that I didn’t even care if we didn’t visit a single château.  We ate crêpes by another cathedral overlooking another square, caught glimpses of the green-grey-tinged Roman tiled roofs, and wandered past endless rows of perfect grape vines.

St. Emilion, one of Bordeaux’ wine regions.

So.Darn.Charming!

Vineyards as far as the eye can see.

So.Darn.Charming!

We did eventually head to the tourist office, and they were very helpful in organizing a wine-tasting visit for us.  First we visited one of two domaines in the village proper that allow you to wander through their underground wine cellars for free.  It was a quick visit followed by an equally quick two-wine tasting.

Next, we visited Château Haut Sarpe, a smallish family vineyard.  The tour was in French (because we booked last-minute in the off-season) so I did quite a lot of translating, which allowed me to truly understand the entire process of wine-making from grape to bottle.  I found it absolutely fascinating, and would recommend a visit for any wine-lover or curious individual.  It made the tasting at the end all the more delicious and meaningful.  One day, I’d love to return to Haut Sarpe in September to help with the grape harvest for a few weeks – what a cool cultural experience that would be!

The Chateau we visited, Haut Sarpe.

Haut Sarpe not only makes great wine, but it’s a historic chateau with lots of pretty old buildings, including this wind mill.

Pretty stoked to have visited St. Emilion with my besties!

Four Nights in Agde

After getting to visit three new European destinations (yay!), I brought the girls home to Bruno’s neck of the woods.  I wanted Erin to meet Bruno and see our little home and village (Alex already had back in 2015), and it was also a way for us to save a bit of cash while winding down the tourism part of our trip and focusing on soaking each other up as much as possible (because who knows when the three of us will be together again?).

I took the girls to La Table d’Emilie, my favourite French restaurant in Marseillan, for a gourmet five-course meal.  They loved it all up.  I took them to Pézénas, the medieval fortified city full of talented artisans selling their wares (the shops are much more interesting here than in Carcassonne).  And I took them to the local spa, followed by an outdoor lunch of moules frites along the edge of the Herault River.

But mostly we cooked.  We talked.  We walked the beach.  We talked.  We sang.  We talked.  We laughed.  We talked.

Enjoying dessert after 4 previous courses at La Table d’Emilie.

La Table d’Emilie, in Marseillan. Fabulous restaurant.

Walking the beach (despite the wind) outside our home in Agde.

And we promised each other we would meet again soon.  This trip had been rejuvenating and illuminating for our souls, and we knew we needed to make one another a greater priority in our lives.

That’s the thing about long distance friendships.  Time makes you slowly forget, adapt.  You lose the urgency of being with that person.  But the moment you’re next to one another, you remember.  You pick up where you left off, you soak it all up, you fill your heart with that person, and you hold on to them that much more tightly because you don’t know when you’ll be able to do it again.

I’m sitting at my departure gate at the Barcelona International Airport.  Our girls’ trip has come full circle, as I’ve returned to the city where just ten days before I happily awaited Alex and Erin while contemplating the quirky architecture of Barcelona’s renowned Antoni Gaudi.  I’m tired – exhausted, actually – but I am happy.  So, so happy.  Over the past ten days I have discovered three new regions of Europe, which is always exciting for a traveler.  Better yet, I discovered these regions with friends.  There’s no better way to discover a place.

Saying goodbye (for now) at the Barcelona airport.

Most of the photos for this post are courtesy of my lovely talented friend, Erin Socia.  Thanks for letting me share, and for being our official trip photographer!!!

For me, however, France is big meals at long tables with family and friends.  Increasingly – especially with my frequent visits in the last year – France is almost home.

Our recent visit to France drove home this fact.  Bruno’s brother and his family traveled down from Geneva to spend time with us during their school holidays.  We invited Bruno’s niece and her young budding family to spend a week by the sea in the mobile home on our property.  Bruno’s other niece and her partner couldn’t miss all the fun, so they, too, came down for a long weekend.

Bruno’s niece and family stayed in the mobile home on our property. Here, they’re getting their big family organized for the day while Bruno and I take breakfast on the veranda.

Elodie and her lovely family.

The girls gawking over the new babies of the family.

And so, we found our home – and table – filled to the brim with family.  With the exception of my parents, we were the same cast of characters as our family reunion last New Year in Morocco.  So it was just as loud, jovial, and – as with most French families – food-focused.

For most meals, we piled chairs around our dining room table or lined-up tables on our veranda and rustled up four-course meals together – my sister-in-law brought the salad, my father-in-law brought the wine, I managed a main course, and the house stayed loaded with cheese, bread, and Swiss chocolate thanks in large part to our nieces.

Between meals, we soaked in the final fall days of sun on the beach, played pétanque in the village, went shopping at the mall, did some yoga, and played board games.  I got to spend time with my favourite little man, Léo (my niece-in-law’s oldest boy), reconnect with my amazing sister-in-law and nieces, and get to know the two newest members of the family, Ava and Eden, five-month-old twins.

Playing pétanque, France’s most-loved game (besides football, of course!).

I organized a yoga class at our house for our family with my yoga teacher, Satya.

Playing on the beach with my best bud, Léo.

Little Ava is grabbing my hand! Oh MAN those twins are adorable!

Our family indulged in a few special out-of-the-house meals, too.  We went out for a tapas night at the restaurant of Bruno’s cousin in the nearby village of Saint-Thibéry, where Bruno’s parents used to live.  We spent the evening eating, drinking, and laughing with Bruno’s parents, brother, nieces, cousins, aunt and uncle.  Talk about a long table!

We also returned to La Table d’Emilie, our favourite French restaurant in Marseillan.  This time, we were celebrating the double birthdays of Pierrot, my father-in-law, and Elodie, our niece and mother of three.  Pierrot spoiled us all with a 7-course chef’s table, where each dish was a surprise.  We were at the table for five hours!

I’ve grown to truly love the long, zipper-popping meals with my French family.  They are a place for us to connect, to talk, and to slowly savour food and family.  I’d so much rather be at the table for five hours than gazing at artwork in the Louvre or snapping photos of old medieval towns.

Tapas night and one mighty long table (half of it isn’t pictured!).

Celebrating a few birthdays at La Table d’Emilie, our favourite restaurant in France.

The cheese platter course of our seven-course meal. Yum!

Pierrot wanted us to take a photo of the four generations of the family. He’s generation one. Bruno’s brother Patrice (white and blue) is second generation, Elodie (on the right) is generation three, and the three little kids are generation four. WOW!

France isn’t only a place of family – we always manage a bit of time with Bruno’s friends, too.  This year, we were in for a special treat because I finally got to meet the infamous Stephane, Bruno’s old friend who has been sailing around the world for thirty non-stop years.  If you thought Bruno was a wanderer, think again!  Stephane was exactly as I’d pictured him in my head – a fun-loving, open, inquisitive, freedom-loving person.  I liked him immediately, as well as his girlfriend, Karina.

We spent a couple afternoons with them drinking coffee and wandering along the riverfront in town.  One day we all piled in a car and popped in on some of Bruno’s other friends, Michel and Béa, in their hilltop town of Nébian.  We went for a long walk in the hills, tasting berries and nuts from the trees, keeping ourselves warm in old shepherd huts, and wandering through the streets of the very old village.  At the end of all of this, we – of course – sat down at a long table to a long, boisterous meal.

Bruno and his friends. The infamous Stephane is on the left.

Getting warm in the shepherd shelter during our hill walk.

The village of Nébian, where some of Bruno’s friends live.

Going for a walk with Stephane and Karina evidently means chatting up some sailors doing repair work on their boat along the Herault River.

Just like that walk through Nébian, I feel like my tourism in France happens accidentally, while I’m busy living life in a place I increasingly feel is home.  It happens when my family members decide on a sunny afternoon to wander through the beautiful alleys of Pézénas to look at the work of local artisans.  It happens when I decide to get a bit of exercise, take off on a bicycle, and end up sitting at a riverside café in old Agde watching the fishing boats go by.

In Pézénas with family.

Sitting along the Herault River in Vieux Agde.

It’s not even tourism, really, that I’m doing.  For tourism is purposeful, planned, goal-oriented travel – the place itself is at the forefront of the experience.  For me, in France, places take a backdrop to the people.  France doesn’t unveil itself to me from behind the lens of its tourist towns.  It unveils itself to me at its long, food-filled tables.  Increasingly, through these rituals of food and connection, France has ceased to be a two-dimensional place with a long list of places to see – instead, it has become a comforting, comfortable, community-filled home.

His reply: Alaska.

It appears Bruno has been planning his return to North America for at least four years (truthfully much longer).  It’s been a long time coming, which is why August 10^th was such a monumental day for Bruno and me.  Totoyaya, our beloved homemade camper van, arrived in North America!

Our vehicle’s arrival onto any new continent is special (over the years I have personally had the opportunity to experience an arrival in Asia and Europe, though Bruno has also experienced its arrival into Africa, North America, and South America), but our arrival to North America holds a particularly special place in my heart – it’s my home continent!

I’ve spent the last decade (plus) exploring lands far and wide, but I’ve spent so little time exploring my own (unless we count all those childhood moves).  There’s an incredible satisfaction in knowing that I’m finally going to delve deeper into the landscapes, culture, and history of my own special region of the world.  It feels like a return to my roots, like coming full circle after a decade of wanderlust.

This month, Totoyaya will be peacefully parked in the driveway of my parents’ home along New Brunswick’s Atlantic Coast while we spend time with family and friends.  We’ll hit the road sometime in September.  In the meantime, I thought it would be interesting – and potentially helpful – for me to share our experience with shipping our vehicle from Europe to North America.

Totoyaya, our beloved camper van, is parked at my parents’ home in Canada! CRAZY!!

We can even stare at her from the window of our bedroom!

From one side of the Atlantic Ocean to the other! :)

Step 1: Choosing the Shipping Method

There are two primary ways to get a vehicle across the Atlantic Ocean – putting it in a container, or doing a roll-on roll-off (RORO) ferry.  I talked more about our experiences with these options here, but basically, ferries are generally the option we prefer.  They involve less paperwork and are faster to organize.  The drawback is that the vehicle is less secure, as you have to hand over your keys.  Cost differences depend on size of vehicle and time available to plan the journey.

There isn’t always a RORO available, but the journey between Europe and North America is so popular now that there are several RORO options.  We opted to go with Seabridge because they are one of the most popular and reliable options, and Bruno’s priority for this journey was simplicity.

Step 2: Choosing the Route

We thought we would ship our vehicle from Hamburg, Germany, but Seabridge recommended that we ship from Antwerp, Belgium, instead.  The ferry ride would be several days shorter (four, I think) and the services provided would be in French and English, rather than German only.

Seabridge offers several ports of arrival in North America, but for us, the option was easy.  Halifax is only three hours away from my family home, so Bruno and I could stay there while we waited for Totoyaya to arrive.  This was a great way to bide our time, as there were 2.5 weeks between the date we handed over the keys in Antwerp and the day we could collect our vehicle in Halifax.

Apparently Canadian customs are pickier than the Americans, but the advantage of arriving in Canada is that we weren’t given the one-year time-limit on our foreign vehicle, which is what happens when you arrive in the US.

The possible ferry routes with Seabridge.

Step 3: Making the Reservation

You can make a reservation up to six months in advance, but since we were departing Europe at a less busy time (the busiest times are at the beginning and end of summer), we reserved online a few weeks before our departure.  You need to know the dimensions of your vehicle, as the cost is factored at 47 euros per meter cubed.

When you reserve, you are also given the option of purchasing car insurance with Seabridge.  Even though we weren’t asked to provide proof of our insurance, if we ever get stopped by police or have an accident, it’s the first thing we would be asked for.  We would never drive in North America without vehicle insurance, and though we declined Seabridge’s insurance offer, we found it difficult to find affordable insurance for a European vehicle in North America.  Finally, we went with Progressive.

We did opt for trip insurance on the vehicle with Seabridge, as it was only about 150 euros for the journey.

Step 4: Preparing the Vehicle

Unfortunately, I wasn’t around for most of the vehicle prep (I was spending some family time in Canada before Bruno joined me), so my poor hubby had to do most of this work on his own.  I know this involved cleaning the interior of the vehicle thoroughly (a requirement for the Canadians), removing the water jugs and bicycles from the back exterior of the vehicle, emptying our personal items from the cabin, and high-pressure washing the exterior of the vehicle.

There is a customs inspection upon arrival, and the cost of that inspection is included in the shipping quotation.  However, if the customs inspector determines the vehicle isn’t clean enough, there will be an additional cost to clean and re-inspect the vehicle.

Bruno left one bicycle in France and put the other one inside our vehicle, hiding it with a piece of fabric under the table. Apparently things need to be put away like this inside the vehicle for the ferry ride as well as customs.

Step 5: Loading the Vehicle at the Port of Departure

Vehicles bound on North American ferries with Seabridge from Antwerp must be in the port by noon every Monday (during summer, that is; winter may have less departures).  Bruno was impressed at how simple the process was.  He simply parked at the port, entered the building of the agency, got an entry pass into the port, brought the vehicle to be weighed (ours comes in at 3100kg!), handed his reservations documents to the agent, was told where to park, handed over the keys, and was given a receipt of the delivery.  In and out in under an hour.

Seabridge then provided us with a document package of how the pickup in Halifax would happen, and it included maps, campsites, phone numbers and addresses of the offices we’d need to visit.  The package was well-detailed and we felt confident and clear about the next step in the process.

Driving our camper van into the Antwerp port.

The paperwork that goes along with the shipping process. Easy-peasy.

Our vehicle waiting in the port to be loaded onto the ferry. Bruno has already handed over the keys at this point.

Step 6: Picking up Vehicle at Port of Arrival

We followed our ferry’s progress online with a link that Seabridge had given us, so we knew it had arrived in port Sunday afternoon, just about two weeks later.  It takes a couple of days before the vehicle is available, because everything is unloaded from the ferry and customs takes a day or so to check the shipment.

On Wednesday morning (2.5 weeks after dropping the vehicle off in Antwerp), you do two quick visits in Halifax before heading to the port to pick up your vehicle.  First, if you’ve opted for the service, you go to a customs broker affiliated with Seabridge to pick up a packet of documents.  You have to pay $150CAD for this.  The office is located in downtown Halifax (5km from the port) and the visit takes five minutes.  The simplicity of this step in the process was well-worth the money.

Next, you walk 600m to Canadian customs, hand over the forms you received at the customs broker, answer a few questions about the contents of your vehicle and the intention of your trip, and get your documents stamped.  This also took about 10 minutes.

Bruno and I opted to do these visits the Tuesday afternoon, because the vehicle pickup at the port can only happen between 8:30-11:30am and we didn’t want to be rushed for time.  In retrospect this was not necessary – everything can be done in a single morning.

At the port, we went to the entry office, showed our passport and got vests and guest passes.  We were driven into the port to an office, where we handed over our packet of documents.  Someone walked us to the vehicle for a cursory inspection, we signed a document, and the vehicle was ours to drive out of the port!

The custom broker’s office in Halifax.

The port in Halifax, Nova Scotia where we picked up our camper van.

Can you spot Totoyaya???

I can! I can!!

Concluding Thoughts on Our Experience with Seabridge

Based on the dimensions of our vehicle, it cost us 2585 euros to ship our vehicle on the Seabridge ferry from Antwerp, Belgium, to Halifax, Canada.  This price included optional trip insurance.  We also had to pay $150CAD in Halifax for the broker’s services.

While this price was possibly higher than other companies (and several euros per square meter higher than Seabridge used to cost), Bruno was incredibly satisfied with the experience.  It took less than an hour on each end of the shipping, which was so much simpler than his experiences doing any other long distance shipping.  Also, the price we were quoted was the full price, and there were no additional costs that surprised us at any point in the process.  Bruno felt confident and safe with Seabridge, our vehicle arrived undamaged and with nothing missing, and neither of us experienced any stress during the process.

We can thus fully recommend Seabridge for shipping vehicles between North America and Europe, and we would do it again without any hesitation.

FYI, Totoyaya is, indeed, still for sale.  We’ve decided to keep traveling with her in North America until we find her a proper new home.  For all you North American readers, this means that our beloved camper van is now available in your own backyard!  Please do pass the word on!

He Reconnected with Old Friends, Too

A few days after we parted ways, Bruno received some visitors that are very well-known on this blog: Josu and Ana, our Basque overlanding friends!  They’d spend the last nine months or so remaking and homologating the cell on the back of their Toyota Hilux and were finally hitting the road with their new beauty!  They were en route to Iceland for the summer, and so stopped in at our house along the Mediterranean for a visit.

It turns out it’s a good thing they did because they had a bit of a hiccup to their grand departure and needed to do a few days of mechanical work.  Once that was fixed, Josu and Ana guided Bruno into the first couple of nights of his own overland [re]departure, and they camped and hiked around Lac du Salagou near Clairmont-l’Hérault.

Josu and Ana parked behind Totoyaya at our house in the south of France!

Totoyaya and Josu and Ana’s new camper van parked at Lac du Salagou.

Josu and Ana spent 9 months building a new, bigger cell for the back of their own Toyota. I think they’re super happy to finally be on the road with it!

Lac du Salagou, where Bruno, Josu and Ana camped.

And hiked.  I’m sad I missed it!

He Gave Totoyaya a Makeover

Lac Salagou is close to some of Bruno’s France friends, so Michel and Béa popped over for a visit.  Somehow the discussion came up that Michel knew a guy who could repaint the facade of our camper van, Totoyaya.

And so, Bruno made his way to the nearby village of Nébians, where he set up shop in the garage of Michel’s neighbour.  It took Bruno a few days to detach various items on the façade of the vehicle, strip the paint, and cover the areas he didn’t want painted, and then another day to paint.

Then, he headed back south, to St-Thibéry (about twenty whole minutes away from our house in Agde!) to get the front of the vehicle repainted by a friend of Bruno’s father.

I guess Bruno had a bit of a false start to his own departure.  But, my goodness, did the work pay off – Totoyaya is an absolute beauty now!

Totoyaya getting ready for her paint job.

Hanging out in the village of Nebians.

Bruno’s hard at work stripping paint, but not too busy to snap a selfie for me!

The painter friend hard at work.

The second paint job at the second location.

Isn’t she a beauty now?

He Discovered the Wonders of France

It had been over three months since Bruno had lived in his camper van on the road, and during the interim, life had been stressful.  The thing he wanted most of all during his time in France, then, was to slow down and reconnect with nomadic, overland living.

He’d been worried France would be jam-packed in its touristy high-season, so he was very pleasantly surprised to be able to find such peaceful campsites.  Bruno managed this by traveling inland rather than right along the coast, and by sticking primarily to farms and nudist campsites (family-oriented, of course!).

I received loads of photos through What’s App those first few days on the road.  Bruno was obviously very happy to be sleeping among trees and birds with nothing more to do than swim in the campsite pool, cycle around the villages, and read books while sipping on red wine!

One of Bruno’s first campsites. Just like he likes them.

Another campsite along the way.

Tough life.

Real tough.

What’s more, Bruno was pleasantly surprised by the natural beauty and architectural charm of his country (especially Rocamadour, voted 3^rd most beautiful village this year by French people).  Bruno’s always been a bit down on France, but driving northward through the center of his country showed him that France does, in fact, have a lot to offer.  I think he began to understand why it’s the most-visited country in the world!  I think his trip may just have convinced him that France is a worthwhile country for us to visit together someday!  Score!

Some of the lovely sights of France.

A beautiful church in the north of France.

Wow! So cool.

Rocamadour, voted France’s 3rd most charming village by French people.

View from below.

View from above.

He Lived it Up in the Hotels of Belgium

Bruno’s destination during this road trip was Belgium, a brand-new country for him (which is so, SO rare – the last was Djibouti in late 2014 and the next one will likely be 5+ years from now!).  We had made a reservation to board Totoyaya on a ferry from Antwerp to Halifax.  I think Bruno could easily have spent his entire summer roaming around the farms and villages of France, but he had a date with a port.  (I’ll talk about the ins and outs of our shipping from Europe to North America in my next post.)

Once Totoyaya was safely dropped off in Antwerp, Bruno moved himself into a hotel and became a tourist for a week.  He spent a few days in Antwerp, itself, while waiting to hear that all had gone well with the ferry’s departure, and then he moved himself to Brussels for a few nights while awaiting his flight to Halifax (and me!).

Bruno didn’t do nearly as much tourism as he would have done had I been there, but he did take a bunch of photos of beautiful buildings for my benefit (and yours!).  He enjoyed the architecture a lot and the food well enough.  What he didn’t enjoy so much was the heavy security everywhere and the obvious fear with which people were living their lives on the city streets.  While he completely understood the need for the high security alert, he felt it created a profoundly sad and negative vibe to his experience of Belgium.

A few shots of Belgium. I have no idea what they are, but they’re pretty!

I know THIS one! Little Man Pee!

Brussels has a heavy security presence right now.

People are still out and about, but Bruno sensed a palpable caution.

Bruno arrived safe and sound in Halifax on the evening of August 2^nd, and into the arms of his happy awaiting wife!  Reunions after six-week absences are oh-so-sweet!  I’ll surely be blogging about Bruno’s introduction to Eastern Canada over the coming weeks, but right now I’m a little too busy enjoying having Bruno here to write!

Every summer, I head back to visit my extended family in the Atlantic province of New Brunswick.  I spend weeks sitting on our gloriously deserted beach, cooking in the kitchen and gardening outside, binge-watching dance TV programs with my mom, doing as much yoga as possible, and catching up with relatives and family friends.

Having a cool beer on a warm evening on the porch behind my parents’ beachside home in Canada.

Working in the garden – one of my newfound favouritest hobbies!

A visit with my cousin, Katie, and her six-month-old baby boy, Theo(dorable).

And every summer in Canada – well, for the past four, anyway – I get the following question: “When’s Bruno coming?”  There are a whole lot of curious people in New Brunswick waiting to meet this almost-mythical man of mine.

Finally, this year, when I was posed this much-anticipated question, I was able to respond: “In August!”

Yep, my friends, Bruno is coming to Canada in a few short weeks!

Not only that, Totoyaya is coming, too!

You may be thinking to yourself, Wait a minute, isn’t Totoyaya for sale?  And you’re right.  Explaining her impending Canadian appearance requires me backing up just a bit: Remember how I talked about all the work Bruno and I ended up having to do – the house renovations, the truck driver’s license, the parents’ move – during our three months in Bruno’s house on the Mediterranean?  Because of that, we weren’t able to accomplish one of the goals we’d set for ourselves in France – namely, to sell our camper van and buy a new, bigger one.  We just didn’t have the time or energy to invest in sprucing her up and posting For Sale ads on visible forums and websites.

And so, we were forced to create a Plan B: hit the road yet again with Totoyaya and try to sell her while we travel.

It just so happens that our next travel destination is North America!  It’s been in our sights for years – heck, when I met Bruno, in Mozambique, and asked him where he was headed, his reply was: Alaska.  Since then, I’ve spent many hours daydreaming about finally exploring my own continent, visiting friends all around the country, and getting to know the vast landscapes, histories and cultures in my own childhood backyard.  I’m really excited to come to Canada with Bruno – and to bring Totoyaya long for a bit!

As I write this, Bruno is traveling north through France.  He left Le Grau d’Agde about two weeks ago and is heading for Antwerp, Belgium, where a ferry is waiting to sail our beloved home-on-wheels to Halifax, Canada!  He’s having an amazing time rediscovering his simple, free lifestyle after so many months in a house, and he’s having almost as good of a time discovering the beauty of his own country!  Despite visiting most of the world (over 130 countries!!), Bruno has seen very little of France.  He’s been pleasantly surprised by the wonderful farm and wilderness campsites, and has been having a great cycling around the countryside and wandering through historical towns like Rocamadour, voted this year the 3^rd most beautiful French town by the French.

Bruno and Totoyaya hit the road in France!

Being with Totoyaya is the next best thing to being with me for Bruno.

And discovering Bruno’s own country’s beauty has been almost as wonderful!

See? Bruno’s happy!

Meanwhile I have been getting my Canada on.  I arrived in the country on June 19^th and spent two nights in Toronto with our long-time family friends, the Sharples.  Even though I couldn’t wait to see my mom, it was the next best thing to be with my second mom, and to hang out with my “little sisters,” who both took a day off work to be with me as I ploughed through tubs of Baskin Robbins Peanut Butter and Chocolate Ice Cream and containers of the world’s best hummus from Falafel World.  We took their dog, Riley, for a walk along Lake Ontario, admired the Toronto skyline, visited Lisa’s mom, Baba, reconnected with one of their family friends, Tyler, and drank some good wine with the whole family.  It was amazing that the weather in Toronto was a good 10 degrees warmer than what I’d left in France!  Go Canada, go!

My “little sisters,” Stephanie and Amanda with the Toronto skyline in the background. Love you girls!!

And my second mom, Lisa!  You’re the best!

Sharing a pint with Lisa and Tyler, an old friend.

Almost a month has flown by since my return to New Brunswick.  Since I know Bruno will be arriving soon, I’ve been soaking up as much daughter time as possible with my mom and dad.  Their home on the beach is an absolute paradise, so I’ve been luxuriating in a garden, kitchen, sun room, and nearby beach.  I celebrated my 32nd birthday with a morning kayak, an afternoon with friends and family on the beach, and a dinner out with my parents.  I’ve also been focussed on helping my dad create a healthier routine, we’ve all started a 21-day meditation program, and I’m also following a 6-week online course on Happiness and Fulfilment.

It seems I’ve kept my itchy feet at bay, at least for now.

By September, I imagine it will be another story.  Bruno and I don’t have concrete short-term plans – there are too many unknowns right now, like when/where we sell Totoyaya, visa issues for Bruno, and other travel opportunities that may come up.

Celebrating my 32nd birthday at home with mom and dad.

Lunch out with my grampa.

Vegan buffet dinner with my aunt, uncle, parents, and cousins!

We do, however, know our long-term plan.  And this is where YOU come in.  Bruno and I plan to spend the next several years on the American continent(s), flitting from north to south as we please (and as visas and weather dictate).  We want to go far north (to Alaska, as Bruno told me when we met, but also to Canada’s version of Alaska, the Yukon Territory).  We definitely want to spend time in Mexico and Central America (a brand new region of the world for me).  And we eventually want to head to the southernmost tip of the Americas, Argentina’s infamous Patagonia (and one of Bruno’s favourite places ever).

Since I’m fortunate enough to be able to travel at length on my continent of birth – and the continent of most of my family, friends, and faithful readers – I’m really excited to ask for your advice.  I want your help to plan our travel itinerary!

In the comments section at the end of this post, please send us your advice and tips.  We’re especially interested in the following recommendations: What must-see places and must-do experiences should Bruno and I not miss in North America?  What’s a favourite local haunt, neighbourhood, or restaurant in your favourite North American city?  What national park or reserve do you love best?  What once-in-a-lifetime activities do you recommend?  What is the most awe-inspiring piece of nature you’ve seen on our beautiful continent?  What cultural events, festivals, or concerts should we look out for in the coming months or years?

We’re really excited to begin our American Odyssey this fall!  We’re sure it’ll be all the better thanks to your help!

It’s the longest we’ve stayed in one place since I worked in Uganda almost four years ago.

At the beginning of this very atypical [for us] sedentary adventure, I expressed my excitement and pleasure at being stationary.  I was totally digging the comforts of a house, the domestic routine, the feeling of groundedness and community that my nomadic life lacks.

I also predicted that, eventually, the novelty of the mundane would wear off, and that I would be ready to hit the road again.

I was right.

I don’t know exactly when the shift occurred – all I know is that, in time, I found myself daydreaming about being in Totoyaya and getting excited again about foreign places in books and on TV.  At the same time, I noted that my gratitude for basic household comforts (like hot water and a washing machine) was diminishing, and that my once-mindful appreciation for my daily routine was being dogged by everyday frustrations and problems.

The novelty of living a normal life in a normal house was wearing off, and I was able to see what this type of life would be like for me without my rose-tinted glasses on.

Having lunch with Bruno and his parents – one of our post-yoga routines that never got old.

Hosting family was an amazing way to strengthen our community in France.

Extended lunches with extended family.

There are definite advantages to living in one place for an extended period of time.  The one that jumps out at me the most is the ability to create roots.  When you’re in one place, you become part of a community, you gain a deeper grasp of a place, its people, and its place in time and space, and you carve out a place for yourself within in.  Maybe you join a club or activity that adds meaning to your life, maybe you turn a house into a home, maybe you create deep connections with people that aren’t possible when you’re flitting from place to place.

But there are also challenges to living in the real world.  During my nine weeks in France, I identified a few of them:

The Perpetual To-do List

Being in the real world involves a whole lot of work and responsibility.  I had to re-create a daily to-do list, something I’d happily given up four years ago when I embarked on this nomadic life with Bruno.  In France, as soon as I accomplished something (and get the satisfaction of checking something off my list!) two new tasks would emerge.  My to-do list seemed eternal.

What’s more, if I chose to make time for myself (to do yoga, to walk the beach, to play in the kitchen, to read), a part of me would feel guilty for taking time off.  Not only did I know, in the back of my mind, that I had so much work to do (which was stressful enough), but I was often hyper-aware that even though I had chosen to take some time for myself, Bruno had chosen not to (he consistently ran around like a chicken with his head chopped off).

Trust me, there is a lot less satisfaction in sitting outside in a lounge chair with a book when your partner is spray-washing the mobile home siding (and it’s not because he’s disturbing the peace).

Ultimately, I had so little free time that I really appreciated it when I did find some.  But I think I’d rather just have more free time.  Being able to nurture passions, hobbies, and interests adds so much satisfaction to my life that it is challenging to accept a life without the luxury of free time.

I couldn’t help but feel guilty for doing this…

… and this.

Especially when Bruno was doing this.

The Expense

A question Bruno and I often get is how we afford to live this life of travel and adventure (I respond directly to this question here).  What I can say is that, every time Bruno and I spend time in our house in France, our expenses double.

Yes, you read that right – our costs are twice as much living in a house in France than traveling around the world in our camper van.  I truly don’t know how this is because we have very little to show for our expenses.  But somehow, between food and entertaining and house repairs, our money just disappears.

I’m proud of our budget lifestyle in our camper van, as our low-consumerism and ability to find free fun definitely aligns with my personal values.  Perhaps more importantly, though, when we spend money in our camper, I know what it’s going to – experiences that we will remember for a lifetime.  Things like boating on the Arabian fjords in Oman, renting a luxury villa for a huge family reunion in Morocco, fine dining in Italy, and visiting rock-hewn churches in Ethiopia are all concrete – and therefore worthwhile, (to me) – ways in which we spent our money.  It’s frustrating for me to spend twice as much money living in a house without anything tangible to show for it.

The Relationship Challenges

After not living in a real house – with real responsibilities – for almost 18 years, it’s understandable that the pace of life made Bruno a tad stressed throughout our time in France.  Bruno’s work ethic is absolutely astounding, but because of the perpetual to-do list, I felt like Bruno suffered from low-grade anxiety for almost three months (and probably a month or so leading up to our decision to return to France).

I’m not ashamed to say that our relationship suffered during our three months in France.  It’s pretty understandable.  I mean, normally Bruno and I are together 24/7 experiencing eye-and-heart opening places and experiences together in a fairly stress-free way.  In France, we had very little time together at all, and the vast majority of that was either accomplishing tasks or falling onto the sofa at night to watch TV.

Bruno and I hanging out. This is what quality time looks like for us right now! :)

There’s not a single picture of Bruno and I during our entire time in France until we left the south and visited the new babies in the family.

I had to merge two photos together to get shots of the two of us!

Sure, we had a bit of social time to enjoy together.  And we could connect during mealtimes.  But during a lot of these moments, we were distracted – by other people, by fatigue, by stress.  It was emotionally unfulfilling to be sharing a life and a house with a partner without the depth of connection I have become accustomed to with him.

The Speed of Passing Time

For nine weeks, my Canadian butt lived in a house on the Mediterranean coast of France, and besides my local produce market and nearby commercial center, I saw none of it.  I am almost ashamed to admit that, despite all our best intentions, Bruno and I did absolutely no touristic exploration whatsoever.

I know I talked in a recent blog about how building a community took priority over being a tourist in France, but truth be told, I intended to achieve both.  The problem was that our motto became typical of non-nomadic people everywhere: Tomorrow, tomorrow.

When you have a to-do list, a routine, and responsibilities, it’s so easy to put-off doing special things like visiting a new town, historical site, or natural space.  Bruno and I fully intended to visit at least a few of the many worthy sites in our area, but we always put them off.  We thought we’d have time tomorrow, knew these places would still be there tomorrow.

Well, enough tomorrows went by, and suddenly, nine weeks had come and gone and I was on a flight to Canada.  Though I’m satisfied I prioritized domesticity and community over tourism (in order to balance out what I get the rest of the year), I’m kicking myself just a little bit for letting time totally pass me by without taking advantage of exploring my temporary – and very interesting and beautiful– surroundings.

My most beautiful touristy shot of France in 9 weeks.

In France, I did more of this.

And this. I’m ok with that.

But it woulda been fun to do this too.

I’m definitely not saying that living in a home sucks.  I’m in no way criticizing the majority of you who have chosen a non-nomadic, domestic existence for yourselves.  I’m sure that many of you have found ways to get past these real-world challenges, to find solutions or tactics that help you manage them, or to balance them with the advantages of non-nomadic life.  (Maybe you don’t even find them challenges at all!)

I’m just saying that, because I don’t regularly live the non-nomadic life, it’s been easy (and interesting) for me to compare it to my nomadic life, to observe the differences, and to note the advantages and drawbacks to each (I talk more directly about the plusses and minuses of living in a camper van here).  At the very least, these notes can be sociologically interesting, but at the most they could also provide perspective for those of you so immersed in the real world that you don’t even realize the challenges it entails.

I already knew that occasionally dabbling with a domestic, non-nomadic life is valuable to me because it allows me to tap into the exact opposites of the life I normally lead – community, roots, routine, comfort.  What I didn’t realize was that stepping into the real world would renew my energy and appreciation for my life on the road.  After my refresher course on the challenges of regular life, I am refilled with gratitude for the fortune I have to live my amazing nomadic life.  Thank you Universe!

Hosting a dinner party is hard work.  Hosting a vegetarian dinner party is a test of creativity.  Hosting a vegetarian dinner party for a group of French people is a cultural education like no other.

Of all the luxuries I anticipated upon our arrival to our house in southern France, it was surely the large fully-equipped kitchen I was most excited about.  Cooking in (or, outside, really) Totoyaya is an exercise in space management and patience.  Fishing out ingredients and cooking tools involves lifting our bed mattress and digging around in our storage boxes to retrieve the necessary items.  With a single gas cooker, an electric burner (when we have electricity), a single pot, a single pan, and a small picnic table, cooking a meal becomes a perpetual dance of re-arranging dishes and foods.  And, though I love many aspects of cooking outdoors, rain, wind, bugs and cold can sometimes mar the experience.

I admit to doing a lot of simple cooking in the camper van, focusing entirely on tried-and-tested recipes.  In France, with my triple-stovetop, ample chopping space, plethora of pots and pans, nearby sink with unlimited warm water, and (best of all) oven, I let my creative juices in the kitchen flow as readily as my water tap.

I made hummus and black bean dip; quinoa and broccoli veggie burgers; millet quiche; my mom’s macaroni casserole; minestrone soup; empanadas, roasted veggies; Thai tempeh and kale salad; pesto cannelloni vegetable patties; paella; swiss chard and herb crepes; samosas and Nepali curry; fennel, pear, and herb salad; sweet potato gratin; ramen noodle soup; homemade spelt pizza and homemade bread; quinoa, tomato and mozzarella bake; penne pasta with peas and creamy carrot sauce; spicy breaded tofu and spring rolls with Asian peanut sauce; Moroccan couscous; Thai curry and pad thai; arugula pesto, vegetable, and walnut puff pastry; fried rice and roasted cabbage; stuffed peppers; bean and veggie chilli; caramelized fennel and spicy couscous; pasta salad; and fruit crumble.

These meal ideas came easily to me, and I thoroughly enjoyed prepping something healthy and home-cooked for Bruno and me.  After a day filled with work, there’s nothing like unwinding together with food by candlelight or, when it was warmer, on our terrace overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.

I’m loving cooking in the kitchen!

Some of the meals I cooked – stuffed squash with wild rice; fennel and pear salad; sushi; and plantain gnocchi.

More meals – samosas and beet greens; spring rolls and breaded tofu; quinoa caprese bake; egg sandwich with homemade spelt bread.

And some MORE food – cannelloni patties; crepes; vegan broccoli salad; and macaroni casserole.

And some more – paella; taco salad; quinoa broccoli burger; and falafel salad.

Enjoying a homemade pizza on our terrace with a view of the sea. Lovely!!

It’s interesting that, when it came to cooking for my French community, food ideas didn’t flow quite as freely.

The French are renowned for their haute-cuisine, the pride with which they hold their gastronomy up to the world, and the importance they place on food.  Food is culture in France, and as with any culture, there are a set of unspoken but all-important rules and rituals associated with its preparation, presentation, and degustation.

You need to actually eat with French people to internalize their subtle rituals: to know, for instance, that cheese is eaten only after the meal (with plenty of camembert and Roquefort, long white baguettes, but no cheese knife).  Or that dishes are served one at a time rather than all-at-once, family-style (a matter of plating aesthetics, of the leisurely pace one should eat with, and so as to experience the flavour intensity of the dish at hand as it is intended).

Take bread: it is absolutely the staple of the French diet, sliced and eaten (never toasted) with butter or Nutella for breakfast, and placed on the table from the first moment of lunch and dinner until dessert.  Though I may have learned these facts without my French community, I wouldn’t have known that, in order to do like the French, one’s slice of bread must be placed directly on the table beside one’s plate.

I find the customs associated with food fascinating (as readers of my blog can attest to in my recent splatter of food posts), but I’d never had to cook for countrymen from such a strong – and proud – food culture before.  My funky meal salads and spicy curries wouldn’t really cut it here in France.

I suppose I could have just served my food my way – cheese as an appie, salad on the table with the rest of the meal, bread distinctly absent from the table.  But two years ago, when my parents and I cooked an American-style barbecue for Bruno’s family, it was met with almost as much incredulousness as leftovers.  This time, I decided I was in France and that it was up to me to conform to French food culture.

Unlike my other trips to France, when we’d wined and dined at fancy restaurants, the majority of our eating out this time was in cafeterias.  Like a park in the Middle East or a local market in Africa, the cafeteria experience in France enabled me to observe the French in their natural habitat and to understand their eating habits.

A French cafeteria is nothing like what we know in North America.  Instead of slices of pizza, hot dogs, pop, and mushy vegetables, you are greeted with a lovely, healthy spread of food choices: a salad bar, plates of cheese, mini baguettes, divine desserts, carafes of water and wine, and hot vegetable side dishes that haven’t been so overcooked as to be unrecognizable.

Most people come here for lunch in large groups from work, and they carefully peruse each section of the cafeteria, choosing a salad, a cheese plate or dessert, and a bread roll, picking out a wine, and then heading for the hot main dish section (which usually involves a fillet of fish or a slab of meat with unlimited access to the vegetable side dishes).  Most people’s platters are filled with their three-course meal, and they sit down, eat slowly, chat, and linger before heading back to work.

(I definitely stood out with my plate of unlimited hot vegetable side dishes and carafe of water.  No bread, no dessert, just a light meal of veggies.)

The salad/cheese/dessert bar at French cafeterias.  Wine behind.

Unlimited veggies with a hot main dish.

My loaded plate of all-you-can-eat veggies.

The cafeteria taught me a few things about the French way of eating: that lunch is the primary meal of the day, that happy hour starts at noon, and that without several courses, lunch is just not lunch.  With this knowledge, I set to work perfecting the art of the French lunch party.

First up: the apéro.  Thinking of a few munchies to whet people’s appetites was easy enough – it just couldn’t involve platters of cheese.  I usually made a dip with veggies and offered finger foods like peanuts or olives.  We made sure to have a reasonably stocked drinks cabinet – muscat (sweet wine), port, pastice (anise-flavoured liqueur that you mix with water), sirop (sweet fruit syrup that you also mix with water), and good ol’ French 1669 beer.  I learned slowly that, contrary to my instinct, it’s polite to wait for everyone to arrive before offering anyone drinks.

Next up: the entrée.  Since I love salad, I tried to go for what I knew, but I experimented with lots of types of salad – warm spinach salad with feta red wine vinaigrette, frisée salad with hazelnuts and orange slices, orzo pasta salad with mint and red onion.  Despite looking at my complicated and strange salad combinations with slight suspicion (why wouldn’t I just serve frisée with garlic and oil like a normal person?), I found that as long as I placed the baguette on the table with the salad, people seemed to enjoy my entrées well enough.

It was with the main dish that I struggled the most.  This is when the French generally eat meat, or at least a really cheesy, buttery, creamy veggie gratin.  Since I’m a gratin-newbie I didn’t want to give them mediocre versions of their own food, but I didn’t feel confident serving my exotic concoctions.

Bruno’s cousin-in-law, Dimitri, helped cure me of that.  He’s from Guadeloupe (a French colony) and cooks amazing French fusion dishes with a touch of spice from home.  He’d cooked an unbelievable feast for me the previous year, and he agreed to show me how to prepare some of the dishes he’d served me that day, like caviar d’aubergine, daal, and plantain gnocchi.

From Dimitri, I learned to use sweet spices like cinnamon and cardamom to perfume and balance heat.  I played with familiar (to me) Indian spices, but balanced them with French essentials like butter, cream, and cheese.  I learned to use unripe fruit like mango and papaya in recognizable recipes like mango salad with okra and lime vinaigrette and green papaya gratin.

The day after our cooking lesson we served our gourmet five-course meal to the family.  And when they ate it – and liked it – I realized that if I could serve my food with a French twist and within a French structure, I’d probably be ok.  With that, I began serving things like Tex-Mex nachos, macaroni and cheese, bean burritos, pesto pasta, and Nepali curry as the main dish for my French community.

Learning to cook food from Guadeloupe with Dimitri (and his daughter!).

Plating the five-course meal for our extended family.

Huh. French people like exotic food after all!

Guess I can serve weird food at my lunch parties, too!

And hey, they like it!

Even if my audience didn’t ooh and aahh as much as Bruno and I, as long as I followed the main dish with a cheese platter, a rich and sweet dessert, and a café espresso to end the meal, they were happy.

It might have been a challenge for me – a Canadian vegetarian – to host a lunch party for my French community, but it was a wonderful cultural education.  I gained an understanding of the flow of a French meal, their essential ingredients, and the proper presentation of the dishes.

But more than that, I internalized the French attitude toward food – namely, that food is about pleasure, celebration, and quality over quantity.  That a meal should be savoured slowly and with loved-ones.

And that, even if the meal is no good, there’s always dessert.

Dessert is always a hit, especially with Bruno’s mom!

Everyone’s anticipating dessert, so even if the meal’s a flop, we all end with a sweet taste in our mouths!

We may not have properly factored in the amount of time we’d have to set aside for our work goals.  I can count the amount of touristy things I did in almost 3 months in France on a single hand.

First finger: I dragged Bruno to a Thai restaurant up the road that I’d been curious about for some time.  I’d noticed it was hosting a free Thai buffet to celebrate Songkran, the Thai New Year which infamously involves three full days of giant countrywide water fights.  We wandered over for a plateful of Thai food and were subjected to gloriously tinny Thai music while my face was festively smeared with clay.  Oh, the nostalgia of my days in Thailand!

Celebrating Songkran (Thai New Year) in the South of France!

One of the ways Thais celebrate their new year is by smearing wet clay onto one another’s faces.

Second finger (this one, at least was related to France):  We walked to the mouth of the nearby Hérault River for some afternoon crêpes.  Mine was topped with nutella, of course, while Bruno chose the traditional toppings of lemon and honey.

Digging into monster-sized crêpeson the edge of the Hérault River.

Third finger: I spent an afternoon walking around Sète, a harbour city about 40 minutes away that my parents had raved about after their visit in 2014.  Since Bruno was doing his truck driver’s license there, I piggybacked on a ride and visited the city’s alleys and canals while Bruno studied at the auto école.  The city did seem quite photogenic, with all the quintessential French cafés and flea markets, but truth be told, I was focused more on acquiring brochures and information for the tourism binder I was creating for future renters of our home than on my own tourism.

Even with a crap camera (my point-and-shoot), Sète is a photogenic city.

Sète is built around several canals, and there’s even a square island entirely surrounded by them. The vibe of the city is all about the water.

Our pitiful tourism record was due to more than just our lack of free time in France – it was also the fact that, in France (like in Canada), I don’t really want to wear my tourism hat.  I spend most of the year getting my fill of incredible places and experiences.  In France, it’s more about people.  Note the following people-oriented tourist experiences:

Fourth finger:  I went to Vinocap, a wine-tasting festival on the pier of Cap d’Agde.  We brought along Bruno’s wine connoisseur of a brother and sister-in-law, Patrice and Micheline, as well as their daughters, Romane and Lucile.

We purchased wine glasses on a string for 3 euros apiece that allow you samples from any of the 96 regional producers present.  I realized I have very little knowledge of wine, but it was nonetheless deliciously hedonistic to wander around with a glass around my neck sampling this red and that white.  The pours were quite generous, the producers always interested in chatting (about wine or other things – for example, the producer from St. Thibéry was quite happy to reminisce about the kindness of Bruno’s mom and her own mother and aunt), and the ambience very, well, jolly.  The best part of all, though, was getting to share the experience with family.  There were a lot of group giggles.

Vinocap wine-tasting event made better with family!

A 3 euro wine glass on a string buys you access to 96 regional producers.

Traditional regional dancing and a very jolly vibe.

Chatting with the viticulturist from St. Thibéry .

Fifth finger: I visited the weekly market in the center of historic Agde, something I’d done back in 2014 with my parents.  A week earlier, my mom had teased me over the phone that they would need to fly out to France so that we’d take advantage of sightseeing in the region.  She wasn’t wrong – the reason I ended up at the Agde market was because I was playing hostess to my friend Richard.

Richard and I met years ago while trekking in Nepal, in a hilarious moment of confusion on our first night in a lodge.  Our pace stepped into line for the better part of a week, and when he finished his trek to Everest Base Camp he stopped in on me in Kathmandu for a bit of revelry.  Several years later, I visited him in his hamlet home in the center of France, and a year after that, we met up for the day in London.  Richard has made quite a few appearances on this blog over the years.

We hadn’t seen each other in over 3 years, and here we were, in as close proximity as we’ve been since (Richard is the caretaker of the lovely Chateau Marconne in the north of France, a job he got on HelpX, in case anyone is curious).  Since Bruno and I were hyper-busy, he kindly agreed to hop on a train and visit for a few nights.

It was, as always, an amazing reunion.  We didn’t miss a beat, talking late into our first night, and for 13 non-stop hours the following day.  At least one of those hours occurred on a beach walk to Le Grau d’Agde and at a café in the square, but if you’re not paying the least bit of attention to your surroundings, can you really count this as a tourist visit?  The following day, after having broached every philosophical, moral, and esoteric topic possible, we were able to take a break from our tête-a-tête to cycle along l’Hérault River into Agde and to the market.

My friend Richard comes to town! :)

Cooking up a storm together.

Super happy to be able to introduce Bruno to Richard.

We briefly browsed the clothing and cheap Chinese goods section, then decided to find a table in the sun at a quintessentially French café.  We weren’t the only ones with that idea, as all the sun-kissed tables were full.  Richard spotted a lady sitting alone, looking sad and disinterestedly gazing into her phone.  He asked if we could sit with her, and she lit up.  For the next thirty minutes we chatted in French, learning that she was a tour guide who’d sent her troops into the market and was enjoying a few relaxing petits cafés.  She told us where to find the food market, hidden in a couple of back alleys near the place central, and then she was off.

This is one of the many things I love about Richard – his desire to connect with people, and the ease with which he draws them out.  Added bonus if we get to wander around a typically French food market as a result of the connection.

The café where we chatted up the French local.

Agde’s food market, which we were lucky to find!

Tourism… finally!

As Richard would remind me, the advantage of being in one place for an extended period of time is the ability to build community.  Community is something that Bruno cares not one iota for, and admittedly is something I tend to forget about for long stretches of time, until my sense of isolation makes me irritable and dissatisfied.  Within days of my arrival in France, I realized that my time here – besides being about our work goals – should be much more about reconnecting with the world and existing within a community than being a tourist.  I’m a tourist all year long, so when I finally find stillness, it’s about digging roots.  Even if those roots will inevitably get dug up.

This is why, instead of touring Carcassonne, I set about finding a yoga teacher and a zumba class the moment I arrived in town.  (I looked for a choir, too, but they didn’t want someone who would only be there for two months.)  These group activities help me feel grounded to a place and are things I deeply miss when I’m on the road.

This is why, instead of visiting Nîmes, we did things like go to Bruno’s god-son’s rock gig, where he drummed his heart out to an audience of familiar faces.   It’s why we drove halfway across France, not to visit la Camargue, but to visit the newborn twins of Bruno’s niece (who are absolutely the cutest things ever!  Congratulations to the Garnier family!)  And it’s why, instead of sampling Spanish tortillas in Barcelona, I organized so many big lunches at our home-on-the-beach.

The scene of Bruno’s godson’s gig, in the small village of Villeveyrac.

Benji and his band.

Welcome to the world Eden and Ava! (Just over three weeks old).

And we can’t forget my special friend, Leo! (Bruno is holding Ava and Patrice, Bruno’s brother and the grandfather of these kiddos, is holding Eden.)

The BIG happy family! (We couldn’t get Leo to open his eyes because he’s pretending to be a sleeping baby like his little brother and sister!  Too cute!)

In France, I haven’t had to build my own community (I’ll save that fun experience for another time) because there is already one firmly set in place – Bruno’s family and childhood friends.  Our time in France is, above all, a chance to connect with the special people in Bruno’s – and now, my – life.  Most of the year, we’re a community of two, but in France, that community is much, much larger.

Once or twice a week, every single week, I hosted a meal with Bruno’s family or friends.  It was definitely a lot of work and a challenging cultural experience to cook for French people (one you all know this food-obsessed blogger will write about in a separate post), but it was invaluable for Bruno and I to be able to host people who’ve spent so many years hosting him instead.

Family nachos.

Mixing up friends and family.

Pizza night for the nephews.

Just the friends.

Of course, we still enjoyed a few big meals in the homes of others.  There was Easter lunch at Annie and Pierrot’s, where I hid Easter eggs for the first time rather than finding them (I was totally jealous of the chocolate-faced kids); the 3^rd birthday party of the daughter of Bruno’s cousin, where the parents fed a long table of thirty people the biggest paella I’ve ever seen (being so close to the south of Spain, paella is very much a part of the food repertoire of this part of France); a grillade (French-style barbecue, where, instead of hot dogs and hamburgers, they cook merguez (spicy sausages) and other sophisticated cuts of meat) with a bunch of Bruno’s friends at one of their houses; and Annie’s birthday lunch at a seafood restaurant, where they de-shelled lobster and served it to us with pasta and creamy sauce (followed, I might add, by a lovely spa session with the women in the family).

In France, community is created over food, and we definitely felt the roots of our community deepen with every meal.

Easter egg hunt.

Easter lunch with the family.

That is one BIG paella!

Annie’s 80th birthday lunch with her hubby and three boys. Priceless.

Spa day with the girls of the family.

This photo was one of Annie’s birthday gifts. We’d taken it at Easter lunch. You can see her reaction. Best gift ever.

As our time in France passed, I found myself getting into a comfortable routine of work, socialize, relax, repeat.  Tomorrow became my motto when confronted with my list of things to see and places to visit.  In this way, the months have slipped through my fingers.  And now, they’re gone.

I didn’t mean for 87 days to go by without wearing my tourist hat.  But, in the end, here in France, people have taken the precedent over places.  And I’m ok with that.

I know I have no right to complain, that I lead an enviable, dreamlike life of leisure.  This was all true, until we came to France.  Well, since then, let me tell you, we have been paying the piper.

When Bruno and I decided to hasten from southern Spain to southern France back in late March, it was with two goals in mind: to prepare ourselves for our next phase of travel (which, since we want to upgrade our home-on-wheels, involved an arduous process of obtaining a truck driver’s license which I described here), and to ready our home-on-the-beach for seasonal rental.

I didn’t realize how much work the house-stuff would entail – I’ve never been a home-owner before.  Boy, was I in for a treat.

First, we tackled the renovations.  There were the walls to wash and patch, the building of our new outdoor sea-view balcony to oversee, as well as a cement wall in front of the terrace to block the approaching sand dunes.  There was the repair of our sliding garden door and front door lock, the two windows in the mobile home to replace, fissures in the floor tiling to repair, and a bamboo/wood awning to build.  We changed the location of the fridge and heaters, and messed around with the electrical connections in the electrical box.  Well, Bruno messed around with them.

Then, there were the aesthetic and practical changes and additions to the house.  There was the artwork to re-arrange on walls, the purchase and assembly of bunk beds, a kitchen armoire, a cleaning supplies cupboard, and a shelving unit and wardrobe for the second bedroom.  We scrubbed melted glue off the door and window frames and repainted them, and had sets of keys order, organized, and color coded.  We purchased new used mattresses for the mobile home and sold the old ones, sewed bedroom window curtains, and installed blinds for the front door window.

Our new awning.

Our new balcony.

Putting furniture together.

Our second bedroom after many practical changes.

Putting artwork on the walls.

Outside, we did some massive gardening.  There were weeds everywhere and entire sections of the garden that had no surviving plants.  We replanted the garden and painstakingly took out the weeds, including along the very long gravel driveway.  We stained the outdoor deck wood, and purchased new used plastic chairs for so cheaply it took a full day to scrub them white again.  We lugged crates of rocks from Bruno’s parents’ place to ours in order to arrange them into a long empty slot on our terrace,  washed the siding of the mobile home, and vacuumed up tons of sand lodged in our fake terrace.

This list is almost certainly incomplete, but it’s the best my fogged-up brain can come up with today.  In case you weren’t impressed with the list, remember that for the first six weeks of this work, Bruno was also juggling his truck driver’s license, which is like having a very stressful full-time job.  Most of the tasks I was forced to accomplish solo were things I was doing for the very first time in my life, ever.

Plus, because we’d decided to rent our home independently this year rather than through an agency, we needed to put a structure in place that would acquire clients, offer them everything they needed during their stay, and maintain the home between renters.  To do this, we spent hours placing rental ads on six different rental websites, which required taking new indoor and outdoor photos of the home, mobile home, and garden that were as professional and clean as possible.  We found a trustworthy cleaning lady to clean before each rental group.

And, in order to create a positive guest experience with a personal touch, we created a tourism brochure book of things to do/see in the region (which required me to visit tourist offices in four different towns, without a vehicle), and a welcome envelope for guests.  We ordered disposable bed and pillow liners, and organized pillows and blankets for each room.  We created a list of safety information and useful emergency numbers, and a pre-arrival letter which included detailed directions to our house and arrival instructions.

Staining the wood outside.

The new cement wall between our terrace and the sand dunes, with our DIY rock and plant landscaping.

Our garden, with a growing flower bed to the left and our awning in progress.

This is all above and beyond the everyday care of a home – the cleaning, the laundry, the grocery shopping, the cooking, the garden weeding… Let me tell you, after this experience living in a house, I’m more convinced than ever that living out of a truck is the only way to live.

Just as Bruno was completing his truck driver’s license and we were finally able to focus our attention on the house renovations (and trying to sell Totoyaya and buy a new vehicle, let’s not forget that!), we received the news that Bruno’s parents had decided to move from their big house near the village of St-Thibéry to their old, smaller family home opposite ours in Le Grau d’Agde.  This was happy news, indeed, and something the entire family had been pushing for these past couple of years.

But it also meant we were adding a 3^rd goal to our list of things to do in France – help Bruno’s parents move.

Annie, Bruno’s mom, has a house full of things collected from 80 years of her own life, as well as those of a whole whack of deceased relatives.  She’s sentimental, so never throws anything away – in other words, she’s a pack rat.  Her St-Thibéry home is full (literally so brimming that you can hardly manoeuver around it all) of old wooden furniture from her ancestors, and each drawer of each piece of furniture is filled with clothing, kitchenware, and documents from said ancestors.  To top that all off, she’s an avid reader who, in addition to her own massive collection, acquired the book collection of her daughter-in-law’s deceased father a few years ago.  Let’s add to all of this her own memorabilia and that of her three children, one of whom is nomadic and has left his own lifetime of belongings in the attic.

Mix in the very energetic and can-do personality of Bruno’s dad, Pierrot, who enthuses that he doesn’t need a moving van or a moving company, that nay, he can do the move himself.  What we have ourselves, now, folks, is a massive move for which two aging parents, and two unemployed nomads, will be conducting alone.

Packing things up from Bruno’s parents St-Thibéry home.

Emptying the kitchen.

A house full of stuff to move ourselves.  Who had THAT idea?

This is our moving van.

Bruno’s memorabilia has to go too…

For two weeks, we jetted back and forth between Le Grau d’Agde and St-Thibéry, lugging furniture onto their van and offloading it into their new home.  Each time we popped over, Annie handed us boxes of things to dispose of.  We sifted through years of belongings, choosing pieces to sell on France’s version of Kijiji or Craigslist (called “Le Bon Coin”), bagging up clothes for donation, and bringing other things to a give/take box outside an organic food store in Agde (which, just like the NYC curb on the TV program How I Met Your Mother, made things disappear almost instantly in a consumer-goods Bermuda Triangle).

Annie could have happily continued sifting through memories for months more, as each treasure recovered brought her back to her nostalgic past.  With this method progress was inevitably slow, and there was more show-and-tell each time we arrived than actual moving.  One day, Pierrot and the brothers decided enough was enough – that they would move into the new house then and there.  Pierrot and Annie were in the advantageous situation of still owning their St-Thibéry home while having immediate access to their new/old house in Le Grau (Rémy, Bruno’s brother, inherited it years ago).

The Give/Take Bermuda-Triangle box where we regularly drop off things. ALL these books are our drop-off, and we’ve sent the same quantity of things at least 8 other times.

Phew, this is hard work!

At least we’re in good spirits, as we sift through old things.

Look at the goodies you find when you empty out an old house – Bruno and his first girlfriend! :)

So, for two full days we readied ourselves for Moving Day, and on the third day, despite garbage-dump-loads of belongings still in their St-Thibéry home, we moved Annie and Pierrot to Le Grau d’Agde.  We set up all the furniture, cleaned the entire house like mad-people, and unpacked their basic necessities.

Since that day, and for the past ten, we visit Annie in the morning to see what she needs (artwork on the walls? furniture moved? items from St-Thibéry?) then drive to the old house to load more belongings destined for the new house/dump/free pile.   I feel like we’ve worked so hard – and moved so much stuff – that it’s truly disheartening every time we step foot into their old house and confront the sheer amount of things still left to deal with.  Truthfully, we won’t be able to get through it all before Bruno and I leave and we’ll likely have to find someone to come and lug it all away to do with what they want.

The important and marvelous thing is that Pierrot and Annie are now more or less settled in their home.  They have 90% of the belongings they want, almost all the furniture placed, and almost all the artwork on the walls.

Pierrot and Annie’s new house the day after they moved in. Not bad!

The living room.

To celebrate their move, Bruno and I cooked dinner for Pierrot and Annie at their new home.

Remy, the landlord (and Bruno’s brother!), comes by to check in on his new tenants!

But all this – the truck driver’s license, the work toward renting our own home, Pierrot and Annie’s move – has come at a price.  And that price has been Bruno and my health and happiness.  Bruno has been a ball of nerves for two months, running himself ragged all day, being short and snippy (as well as almost totally non-conversational) and collapsing on the sofa at night.  I have fared a lot better, still managing to find time to play in the kitchen, exercise, organize social events, and most recently, take advantage of the gorgeous summer weather with a book and a lounge chair.

But two days ago, I hit a wall.  All of a sudden, I felt totally bowled over.  Such an intense fatigue overtook me that I didn’t even have the energy to communicate.  All I wanted to do was lie down and refrain from moving my body.

I don’t know how most people live this kind of life all the time (is this what real life is like??).  An entire life can pass you by without you even knowing where the time has gone, without even having stopped to smell the roses.  Regular people are brave.

I am not.  I’ve gone soft.  I just want to jump in Totoyaya and take off toward the horizon.  If a few months ago I was dreaming about the comforts of life in a house, that dream is no more.  It only took a couple months of work to make me appreciate the luck I’ve got in life and to want it back, at all costs.

So, yes, I am ready to leave France now.

Oh yes, and about taking off in Totoyaya.  Yeahhhhhhhh, we haven’t had time to sell her or to buy a new vehicle.  Obviously.  We managed the first part of the road-worthiness test (called the contrôle technique), giving us the right to drive in France until July 10^th.  Beyond that, we’ll just have to play things by ear.  One problem at a time.