It’s not only black and white. The minor chords of grey that make the symphony complete and harmonious are playing in my mind. I have history here. Stone steps that leave an impression on the soft humous scattered about the earthy floor.
I am travelling light, treading lighter, carrying my creativity wherever I go.
(See https://jenimcmillan.wordpress.com/ for more photography and musings)
This is the room that I launch my next expeditions from. The contents of my backpack are spread across the bed. The grime from my travel day is down the plug hole and my undies are drying on a string in the backyard. The television is way too loud but I need to immerse myself in the language and this simple house in a French allotment is the perfect place to do it.
My friend is in the garden, digging white stones out of a growing trench in the sun-touched lawn. This is a foundation for a solid fence, one that will keep the neighbours from turning on his turf. I’d welcome them in to tea on the terrace and read poetry aloud but that’s where we’re different. I’m the bohemian throwback and he’s the retired gendarme.
There’s a cooler wind at my heels. My wings are being lifted in the direction of Dordogne where sunflowers tilt to the passing sun and chickens wander freely across fields interrupted by copses of young oak trees and 400 year old farm houses. My mission is to prepare documents for my Long-Stay Visa (Carte de Séjour) and re-visit the relics of a past life.
Jet-lag has subsided a degree or two but the temperature in Paris is still simmering. I meet a friend and we walk the day into the night. My French is rusty. Her English fabulous. Before long we are contemplating ways to exchange countries. The lure of another culture and landscape pulls like a French bulldog on a snappy lead.
I took the leap. Australia is behind me and a steaming Paris day ahead. My backpack is carefully loaded with sixteen kilos of everything I think need for the year ahead… or perhaps it two? I have my tent, sleeping bag, and a half-sized inflatable mat in anticipation of adventures. My sketchbook, my camera, my Macbook are stowed inside, along with a change of clothes and my toothbrush. The Long Stay Visa was a nightmare but PTS is good enough reason to skip the details – unless you press me. Sharing Tips is part of the package. A solo traveller needs all the help she can get.
The Wildart Wanderer 