En route!

2 - 3 February, 2011

A pleasant enough flight, long of course, as expected, was followed by an overnight stay in Songolo Bridge Hotel, Incheon, on the outskirts of Seoul.

I had cherished notions of doing some sort of open top bus tour of the area, just so I could say I'd 'done' Seoul, but as the view from my bedroom window reminded me of a snow bound trip to the former Soviet Union in the 1980's, I quickly abandoned this idea in preference to an early night in one of the best beds in which it has been my priviledge to sleep. It was like spending the night cosseted by clouds, tucked in by angels - wonderful!

Next morning, after battling to operate the automated, centrally heated, male / female oriented, bi lingual, all singing all dancing, bum wash-and-blow drying toilet, I made my way down to breakfast, eaten whilst watching news of the latest cyclone to assault Queensland. I knew there would be repercussions further down the coast, and thought of my little family battened down in our hillside home.

Some time whiled away in the extremely high-end airport at Seoul - no such thing as fridge magnets on sale here! - quickly gave way to flight calls and boarding, and I was on the final leg of my journey to Paris.

Watching the in-flight stats on my seat mounted television screen, I saw our tiny plane gradually move out of the map depicting the Southern hemisphere and begin inching its way across Russia. When the map of Australia had finally disappeared, I realised how far I was from home and the beating hearts I loved so much, how long it would be before I saw and held them all again, and thought about crying myself to sleep.

At this point, the stewardess came by with the drinks trolley. Crisis averted. A glass of red, a movie or two, an attempt at dozing and then - France! Paris! Montmartre! Vive!

Bonjour Paris!

3 February, 2011

Stepping off the plane at Charles de Gaulle was an energising feeling, despite the fact that it was four o'clock in the morning according to my body clock, and there had been no sleep on the flight. Just as well I was feeling energised, as I knew Holly had plans for us on my arrival night which included the words 'out' and 'party'.

I was really happy to see her waiting in the Arrivals lounge, looking great in her winter coat and smiling, just as I remembered her from last time. Her driving was just as I'd remembered too, and I spent most of the journey into Montmartre with my eyes closed, holding my breath.

Her new apartment was just lovely, accessed via a very pretty entrance courtyard, and featuring pale oak floors and a charming layout.  Two bedrooms and a study in one of the most desirable locations in Paris - I was most impressed. This was going to be fun!

Rallying after a glass of Pinot Noir (quite a shock to my now very Australian wine drinker's palette) and piling on the layers for an 'al fresco soiree', we ventured out to a record industry party round the corner at EMI head offices.  This was a blast from the past for me, as Holly and I had met when we both worked for EMI, she in Paris and I in London, and enjoyed some very memorable, erm, working experiences over the years.

The launch party brought back a hundred memories, there were some familiar faces both in the crowd and looking down from the photographic hall of fame and the whole thing was quite vibey enough to keep me going.  The girls in attendance were so pretty and so sophisticated looking in comparison to the faces I'd become familiar with in Australia, with their casual glamour, chic little boots and scarves, some with Amelie haicuts, and all smoking (of course). The guys resembled cool city types, art directors or musos - surely because they were! - wearing black coats and horn rimmed specs and all smoking (of course). 

I was straight back into hearing French everywhere and trying to speak it again, which my sleep deprived brain managed for a while, then it became scrambled and too hard.  Time to head home. Jerome van der Hole was still strumming his stuff on the showcase stage, but it was all becoming a blur and tomorrow was another day.  The girls were arriving.........

2 February, 2011

Au Revoir

Waiting for the call to board my flight from Brisbane to Seoul, overnight bag in hand, once again I go over my reasons for leaving.

My ten years in Australia have been interesting, inspiring and involving, but they have also been isolated, insular and irritating for reasons as much to do with me as to do with the country. Australia is so far away! From everywhere! Still!

It takes as long now to fly to Australia as it did in 1972! How can that be? Surely aviation progress should mean that we could be in Sydney for breakfast and Sienna for lunch - but no. Rocket flights do not yet exist. Any trip made from Australia requires a minimum of five days to be fully enjoyed, and herein lies the crux of my problem.

My first trip to the UK in nine years, for my parents' golden wedding anniversary in 2009, reunited me with friends, places, countries, sights, sounds and feelings that had been dormant for the past nine years since my arrival in 2000 to take up full time residence in Oz, and they returned with a vengeance.

The architecture! The culture! The history! Yes, breakfast in London and bruch in Milan if you fancy it! Nip over to Morocco? Which flight - we could be there for cocktails! I had forgotten all about this and the feeling that my world had shrunk to encompass only my home town on the Gold Coast, and driveable distances from it, was quite suffocating.

Thus was born a fierce drive to return to the Northern hemisphere and reacquaint myself with what I had forsaken during my years Down Under.

Thus I had bade farewell to my longsuffering husband and oblivious pets for a four month sojourn to the South of France to find out if the French really do know how to live a better life, and if we could perhaps join them, even for a little while.

Clutching my pass and that overnight bag, I boarded the first leg of my flight to Paris, via Seoul.