Monday 19 June 2023

I was hugging myself again today as I walked. I should probably be sensible and start wearing gloves.  It is winter after all. I must confess though, that after watching more of our French vlogs, I now realise just how cold it can get in France.  The renovator we were watching yesterday was up early in the morning clearing trees that were sparkling with frost, and he informed his viewers that the temperature was a very brisk -5 degrees.  Brrrr!  I don’t think I’ve experienced that level of cold.  However, I am told that it would be a dry cold in France rather than damp, as we have here in NZ.

A few days ago, I was at a church service, and afterwards I spoke to two acquaintances who were asking how our trip had been.  As I spoke of our experiences and how I felt about it all, both of them welled-up.  Then they shared their experiences with me.

One, a New Zealander of Dutch descent, told me the first time she visited France, she felt that she was truly home. That was when she was seventeen years old.  She has recently been trying to convince her husband that they should do a house-swap for a year, with someone in France.

The other, a German lady who married a New Zealander and has lived here ever since, looked truly pained as we spoke of the history that is contained within Europe.  Of the walls, the streets, the houses, the buildings.  Of the church bells, that would be ringing as she walked to church each Sunday as a child with her grandparents.  I could see that she misses it all terribly.  Painfully.  She said it is something that she just cannot get here.  Interestingly, each time she goes home to Germany to visit family, she makes a point of taking her children into a little bit of France, just so they can have the experience. 

Another very close friend is heading back to the UK tonight for five weeks.  She married a New Zealander many years ago.  Despite frequent trips back home, and visits here by her parents, she has always yearned to be back in the UK.  It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate New Zealand and she knows that it has been a good place to bring up her children.  But she wants to be back there.  A big part of that is her longing to be with her UK family, but she also just pines to be back in Europe.

I am not alone.  There are others who feel this way.  I know I don’t have the right to feel this way, and yet I do.

I have never lived anywhere else but here.  And I’m not silly. Well actually that’s a lie. I am silly, a lot silly.  But still not too silly to realise that a month is not enough time to understand what it would be like to actually live in France.  To be honest, as magical as it would seem to me, I don’t want to permanently live away from our sons, our extended family and our precious friends.  In all our conversations (and there have been many) about doing something crazy, about living somewhere else, it has always come down to that – we don’t want to abandon our most precious people.  

But what if we were to live part of the year in France.   Hmmm, what would that look like?  And of course, that would only work if hubby was keen. But, guess what?  He is!

Me:  “You are keen, aren’t you Honey?”

Clive:  “Yes, Dear.”