Hâte à l'hiver....

It's been interesting to note reactions when it is revealed we are going to live in France, moving to the the Northern Hemisphere.

One of the non positive responses goes something like 'oh my god, think of those winters!'. 

As I was fondling a soft black leather Samvara bag (on left -should I buy it? really expensive..), lusting after a pair of black suede boots seen on line and coveting a mongolian lamb gilet, I suddenly realised I LOVE THE WINTER!  In fact, being a true goth at heart, I'd pick a floor length coat over a sun dress any day and the idea of being able to wear leather gloves again makes my heart sing.

Is this strange?  I have many friends who will be horrified by my words and would gladly spend their entire lives in a never-ending summer.  But that's not me.  I can appreciate the ease offered by dressing in little more than singlet, shorts and thongs year round, but overall I do find it rather boring.  I loathe the ever present humidity that saps energy and turns hair to mush and am truly looking forward to good hair days x 365 once we hit humidity free French shores! 

There is nothing nicer than a glass of red beside a crackling log fire and my favourite foods are all cold weather rib-stickers - shepherd's pie, casseroles, stews, French onion soup, lasagne, lamb shanks, Sunday roasts. 

I'm naturally attracted to velvet curtains, leather sofas, persian rugs and chandeliers, none of which 'gel' particularly
well with 38 degree days, 87% humidity and loose sand from the beach. 

Suffice to say I'm stoked at the thought of donning my Russian hat again and stalking out into the crisp morning for a hot chocolate. 

But what of Folie Monsieur who doesn't own a sweater, never mind a coat? Who daydreams about body surfing and year round poolside barbies? What of Roly, Pepper and Oscar who have never seen snow? How will they react? All will be revealed soon enough, I guess, and it's no fluke that we selected the South of France and not Brittany or Scotland! And the good thing about a proper winter (apart from the fabulous clothes!) is that it makes a flower filled spring followed by a long, hot summer all the easier to appreciate. That said, you might want to ask me again how I feel about winter this time next year...

r...

Je ne regrette rien....?

In less than one month's time we shall be living in Montpellier.  Rue Henri René, a few paces from Place de la Comedie.  Un bijou pied à terre until we find our permanent home.  Formidable, right??  Hmmm....

I had no idea it would feel so - strange - unsettling, and sometimes just plain crazy to take such a step. I mean, it all felt idéal when we were there last year, didn't it?  We loved it, had a great time, could picture ourselves there in a heartbeat.  However, but, BUT - now that our house has been sold, our goods have been shipped, our pets innoculated and booked one way (!) Cathay Pacific to CDG, it all seems, well, very scary, very final.

Are we in for a rude awakening when we start living in France for real? Were we looking at French life through 'holiday eyes' to quote Folie Monsieur's dad? Will the nitty gritty of the daily grind quickly relieve us of our rose (or tricolore) tinted glasses? Or will being 'closer to the core' to quote Roxette's Per Gessler make up for any disappointments or difficulties?

Funny thing is, when you know you are leaving behind a place (or a person) it enables a different perspective.  A kinder, more indulgent one where shortcomings or inadequacies are overlooked. The familiar is your friend. Thus, suffocating heat punctuated by torrential downpours seems capricious now, rather than extreme.  Coles vs. Woolworths seems straightforward rather than severely restricted.  The year round ease of living in little more than singlet, shorts and thongs takes on a transcendental appeal, as opposed to a yearning for the more seasonal, sophisticated things in life.  What can this mean? Should we stay put and never have started this heady flirtation with all things South of France? Is it just the equivalent of pre-wedding jitters?

I think not. I hope not.  The older we get the tricker it is to embalk upon adventure, so it's only natural major upheaval should give us the jitters.  However, two things sustain us.  Deathbed regrets are rarely composed of 'if only I'd done more overtime, stayed with that loser and never tried anything new'.  And, thanks to the insurpressable buoyance of the Australian psyche, should we abandon our French life and return to the antipodean shores we know, we surely would be greeted with little more than 'she'll be right, mate - coldie?', and resume our normal duties like we'd never left.  A testimony to the strength of this country, the dynamism of its appeal and its confidence in its future. 

One Small step for Folie Madame et Monsieur and one Giant step for Roly, Pepper and Oscar.  On y va!