This summer it came to my attention that the last time I had been to see my dad in South West France was three years ago for his wedding. In a last moment decision I decided to take the plunge and fly over. In the space of less than a week tickets had been booked, bags packed and I was on my way, making the journey for the very first time on my own.
The Journey
Normally when it comes to new journeys I am terrified. Although Manchester airport is the closest to me and seemed like the most likely choice I was kind of relieved when it came to light that the next available flight was from Leeds-Bradford. The train to Leeds was a journey I am all too familiar with and from station to airport was a designated and specific bus. What can go wrong with a bus?! Well, apparently a lot. I had timed it so that I would have an hour to walk from the train station to the bus stop outside of said station. So when I was on time I decided to meet with my partner to have a coffee in the station. However, panic set if after standing at the bus stop for a time and realising that the bus stop was closed. It had been relocated. “Not to panic” I thought to myself, “I am dating a Leeds boy, he will know how to get me to other bus stop”. He did, after leading me up the wrong street to start with. Upon arriving at the correct bus stop I discovered I had just missed the bus and there would not be another for 20 more minutes. I was now 20 minutes behind schedule. Que panic texting to my dad. Of course a bad idea when your father is a fully fledged wind up merchant. Que panic texting to my step-mum. After some calming texts off her and big cuddle and goodbye kiss off Kyle I was finally on the bus and on my way to the airport. The airport was a much calmer affair. After I adopted a lovely couple that had collared me wandering aimlessly in completely the wrong direction. They were the real MVPs making sure I stayed with them all the way through to air side. So after a delightful chat over coffee and taking a bank loan out to get myself some lunch I was finally on the plane. The last leg-and for some the first-of my journey.
French Countryside
Upon arriving in the peace and serenity of the French countryside the weather had taken a turn for the better from the previous week. It was glorious sunshine in the beautiful, almost fantastical, land. Not only did the charming scenery offer many photo opportunities it was also the perfect little pick me up.
It could alter any sullen mood. Sometimes when surrounded by the hustle and bustle of city life it is hard to make yourself stop and relax. However, in the French countryside with nothing for miles it forces you to relax yourself.
(the transition from "This way!" to "I can't go on any further!")
One of the things I enjoyed the most at my dad’s was taking his Belgian Barge dog, Lou Lou, for a wander down the country roads. The walk started off with so much promise with Lou Lou guiding the way of where she wanted to walk. Yet, this was not the case for the entirety of the walk. We were almost home when Lou Lou could not go any further. She got herself comfy on the grass and refused to go any further. After a couple of minutes of unsuccessfully pulling her I had to give into what she quite clearly wanted and I carried her the remainder of the walk home.
Baking
With my step mum being a baker that makes her living from producing both scrumptious and delightful to look at cakes it was a great difficulty not to come back 3 stone heavier than I had gone. But it also meant that I could, with supervision, make my own and very first batch of cookies. The plethora of cookie cutters were what really made the experience. It really is the simple pleasures in life I guess you could say.
Quality Time
Above all else, it was really being able to spend quality time with my French family that really made the experience for me. When the nights are short and rainy in England there comes times that I violently miss them, especially after sharing a bedroom with Evie many moons ago. Every time I see her I feel like not only has she grown 4 foot but also matured by 26 more years.
Oradour-sur-Glane
Being a history buff, this was a place that I had wanted to visit for a very long time and it was humbling it be able to walk around the village itself. 10th June 1944: Nazi Germans went into the village, rounded up the women and children and then the men as they came in on the coaches from work and they were mercilessly slaughtered. From a historical point of view I can only analyse that with Oradour being the centre village of those in the surrounding land the people of this settling were used to send a message: The Germans would not stand for resistance. The memorial site stirs a lot of emotions in the eerie setting. It really brings to light just how monstrous the human race can be when corrupted by power and glory. Almost as a perpetual reminder of the devastating attack is the fact that there seems to be no nature around the village. No bird or small creature could be seen or heard. But on the other hand, foliage thrived. In every crevice was vivid, green foliage.
(This was one of the only pictures I took at Oradour due to the fact that it felt slightly disrespectful in a place of memory. but I felt a scorched car left where it would have stood so long ago spoke so many words to me)
It is safe to say that it will not be another three years before I make the journey again. There will always be a small part of me that craves the peaceful place and if you ever have the opportunity to travel through rural France do not hesitate.
Ta Ta for now
ox