Sat July 10th.
WE rise at 5.30 and make George Clooney Nespresso coffees. Gotta get one of those machines! St Pancras is such an imposing building and only the new library separates it from our hotel….so we walk, dragging our cases, and join the mayhem that is Eurostar. Bacon Baguette and more bad coffee provide some sustenance as the trains are all in at the same time and boarding is chaotic. But only four coaches go all the way through to Avignon so it’s less stressful for us. We’re in couch 4, in Pullman type seats facing two others with a table between them. The English couple opposite us sit in deafening silence and, through the six hour journey, Tony and I individually create the same scenario from their body language…. She’s anal and anxious; he’s withdrawn and non communicative. Much of his time is spent staring into space and withdrawing if she so much as touches his arm. It’s poignant in a heartbreaking way. She wants France to fix everything between them….to give them a fresh start; he knows it’s hopeless - the love is gone and he doesn’t know how to bring it back, and he’s stuck on this fatal trip, wishing he were somewhere else. It’s so very sad. Meanwhile Beloved and I touch and giggle and listen to Jazz on the walkman disc because we have one headphone each as we did when we were in Paris 7 years ago and he proposed. No MP 3 players then…so he has kept his in his case while we share.
Six hours goes quickly but we’re not prepared for the chaos of Avignon. It’s stinking hot and we have to queue for tickets and then for the transfer bus to TGV where we’ll pick up our car. A young well to do Englishman jumps the queue without a ticket and I name and shame him, furious that he of privilege should behave so dishonourably. At first he tries to defend himself but quickly realises I have his number. We have to stand on the bus and are thrown all over the place - but when we alight at the TGV he comes to me and apologises and is genuinely ashamed. There is perhaps hope for the human race.
The car hire places are in turmoil with roughly 300 customers arriving at the same time. Our car has been pre-booked for months but it’s still a 2 hour wait. The one joyous thing is that they are all out of automatic Vw Golfs and have no more small automatics so we are upgraded to a Mercedes….OH MY GOD…it’s beautiful, it’s big, it’s new, it’s AIRCONDITIONED! I want to live in this car for the rest of the summer!
We follow Mal and Christine’s instructions and find our way to Bourdiguet - but make three false attempts to find the house. The fact that our stay is a gift from someone I’m mentoring makes it doubly special, and I remember that when we finally arrive, open the bottom terrace door and are delighted by the bedroom….. Then climb the stairs to a dark and musty smelling lounge area with no kitchen to speak of, and further up the stairs to a huge bedroom with a tiny bathroom. This can’t be all, surely? No it isn’t! We’ve seen less than half the house. Unlocking a little blue door, the rest is revealed to us in all it’s rustic charm and we love it. We choose the upstairs bedroom because it’s opposite the bathroom with its claw foot bath and it has French doors to the balcony.
We cut back on the road to the supermarket and arm ourselves with Vin, Eau Minerale, Fromages, pain, jambon et terrine du pays, ack home we stuff ourselves with food….find what bedding we can ( the cleaners have apparently not been doing the laundry - or their job) and fall into bed. The sun is just setting…an amazing buttery yellow. The light in Provence is so like our beloved Perth. We are asleep before the sun disappears. We are in France - and we have six weeks to revel in the wonder of it.
Sunday July 11th.
It’s my beautiful eldest daughter’s birthday today and there’s no way I can reach her. Everything is closed and there’s no reception on the mobile. I guess it’s not that important to call - she knows how much I love her.
We sit on the terrace and drink coffee and eat French bread with butter and apricot conserve. We are knackered from lugging our baggage backwards and forwards in the heat. Tony especially is aching all over and looking quite ill. I am in pain with my leg hip and knee from all the stairs. We really are a couple of old crocks this morning. But the spirit is still young.
It’s hot already by 8.30 am. July/ August is not the most sensible time to come to Provence!
From the terrace we can see the distant hills - the pencil pines, the ancient red tiled roofs of the barn next door and beyond it the little chapel….no longer used. We watch a huge flock of swallows ducking, diving, gracefully soaring. We’re happy to do nothing today except just BE!
The house is part of the original farmhouse and it’s previous owners live next door. Robert speaks very good English but I practise my French on him anyway as he fixes the TV so that we can watch the Tour de France. I am determined to speak French like a native - of New Guinea!
We catnap and graze on what is left of the food and finish the two bottles of mineral water which have lasted less than 24 hours. Next time I’ll buy in bulk. Somehow we manage to stay awake for the world Cup Final but it’s a shocking match and we fall into bed once more completely exhausted. WE’ve done so much the past three weeks and it’s finally catching up with us. Sleep…… always the best medicine.
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