The End of the Odyssey

December 2008

The last few days in Seix were a flurry of packing, cleaning, throwing out unwanted stuff and saying goodbye. It’s not often in life that one leaves a place for good, that one gathers up everything one has and moves on. It’s unlikely that we’ll ever live in this small corner of the world again, a fact that made our departure all the more poignant. Many of our friends, and even some people we only knew by association, made the effort to come to us and say goodbye, to say that they and their children would really miss our family. It was touching to feel their regard.

On our last day in the village, Thursday, there were many tears flowing into the Salat. Mahalia and Maylis were distraught, Agnes and Orissia found the parting very hard, and Myriam and I had moist eyes. Mireille regretted the things we didn’t do together, and Bitte spoke aloud the words that had been waltzing around in my mind, that it was awful for us to be leaving when we felt so happy in each other’s company: her and Olivier and Ludo and me. We had passed a wonderful evening in their company only a week before, in their stone grange on the mountain above Aleu, a house that could only be theirs, done up by them alone with beautiful wood, white plaster, lace, and not a straight line anywhere. It was the first time we had been invited to dinner by local people. Ludo and I have learned over the years, from living in different countries, that it takes a year to form firm friendships and two years to start to feel at home. We are blessed to have formed a few special friendships here, each one of us.

To leave the house in Seix is not an easy thing. Because of the extreme cold the water needs to be bled from all the pipes, removed from all the toilets and emptied from the hot water tanks. The sheets and towels also needed to be washed and well dried before being put away so they wouldn’t become mouldy in the long period of the house’s dormancy. The linen sheets take an age to dry so this was no easy task. We slept without sheets and pillowcases on our last night in the house, and left in the dark early on Friday morning, packing the Renault Espace with 5 suitcases, two large backpacks, 6 small backpacks and 2 bags full of shoes. It sounds as impossible as it seemed to be, but the car had elastic sides. Au revoir, Seix!

La Fete de la Lumiere, Lyon

Felix with Mael; Mahalia and Agnes with Johanna

Our exodus from the Pyrenees took us along the Mediterranean and up the Rhone Valley to Lyon, where we stopped for the night. We were there to visit a friend I made in New York 20 years ago, Pierre, his wife Sylvie and their two children. We’ve seen them on and off over the years and it’s one of those friendships that doesn’t drift with time; they are constants in our address book. We were very lucky to be in Lyon on the night of its famous Fete de la Lumiere, and event that draws visitors from all over Europe (which presented serious accommodation problems). This celebration started as a religious festival where lights were lit for Mary and carried through the streets. It has transformed into a full on spectacle of light, with buildings lit up, lamps hung in the streets and an artist’s competition (along the lines of ‘Sculpture by the Sea’) for works based on light. It was beautiful, especially a video work for children that was projected onto the huge old buildings along two sides of the town hall square.

Sylvie and Pierre

We had dinner with Pierre and Sylvie at their flat, and pored over photos of our children taken nine years ago, and marvelled at how much of their childhood we forget. It made me realise anew how fortunate we’ve been to slow down this year and watch the four of them grow without our own busy-ness clouding our eyes.

On Saturday we squashed into the car again and climbed up into the Alps, to Switzerland. It was very strange to be back in this country again, a place that I found beautiful, but in which I didn’t ever feel comfortable. It is also the place where I met Ludo, where our story started. We saved each other from the alienation that foreigners can feel here.

Our Chalet; the Festive Streets

It was a long drive along the northern edge of Lac Leman, and a treacherous drive up the valley to the village below Zermatt with no snow tyres or chains. We parked the car there and took the train the rest of the way. Cars are not allowed in Zermatt, and this makes it more beautiful than it already is. Nestling below the Matterhorn, it’s a fairy village covered in snow and tasteful Christmas decorations. In fact, they don’t need Christmas decorations here. There’s no need to evoke festive feelings with artificial Christmas trees and baubles. Every tree is a Christmas tree and every shaft of light illuminates a shower of falling snowflakes. Finally, a white Christmas! All my life I’ve wanted to experience Christmas in the snow, and here we are (at least for the pre Christmas festivities).


Sunday dawned clear and blue with a clarity to the air that took our breath away. After spending more in the hire shop than we did on accommodation (and more on lift tickets than we did on accommodation too) we were ready to ski. The ski equipment logistics for a family of six are cumbersome and not funny, especially when two of the six can’t manage their own gear. The walk from the apartment to the ski lifts was challenging, but reaching the top made it all worthwhile. We set out together on our first run and it was beautiful. The snow was soft, the slopes well groomed, no ice and hardly any skiers. Paradise. We headed further up the mountain, keeping the mighty Matterhorn in our sights all the time, and started down the next slope. Then, oh no, I felt something really not right happen in my knee. Torn ligaments. Not great timing. The only good thing about the whole experience was the fun ride down in the first aid sled. It was such a weird way to see the mountain (upside down) that I laughed all the way. $1,500 and a few torn ligaments later I’m back at the apartment, and here I will stay for most of the week I imagine, and I’m not laughing any more!

Skiing in Zermatt

Wednesday
Today it’s snowing. The emaciated winter trees become fleshed out with snow, and the firs become Christmas tree clichés. The snow accumulates on the fences, the garbage tins, the bicycles, rising like dough, a gentle and inevitable growth, the soft contours becoming softer and less contoured and eventually disappearing altogether like limbs under a thick quilt. Snow is so far from my ordinary life that every aspect of snow seems like a miracle. Seeing it in such quantities is like a gift. It’s the gift of being able to look with new eyes. We were so excited when it snowed in Seix, but now that seems like amateur excitement compared to the euphoria we feel here, where the snow is a metre deep and powdery fluffy.

Our chalet is fantastic. Central to everything, not too expensive, well equipped and tastefully decorated with carving everywhere done by the owners’ grandfather.

Friday
Stupendous weather. I had to go out and enjoy it, so I hobbled out with the troops and we took the train up and up and up to over 3000m. The views of the Alps and the Matterhorn from the top were panoramic, the sky blue, the snow deep and white and icing-like. Below us, a long cloud lay like froth, extending from the foot of the Matterhorn right to the end of the valley at Visp. There was one lonely cloud, and I could actually see its shadow slanting through the atmosphere and onto one of the distant slopes. I have never seen a shadow on the sky before. There was also a tiny fragment of rainbow hovering above the ski slope in front of the station that was like the special effect in a movie. Strange meteorological events abounding.
I took a video of the kids and Ludo skiing away from me down their first slope of the day and felt like crying as they slid away, very sad that I couldn’t be with them in such a beautiful place on such a beautiful day. All that was left to do was walk around and take in the scenery, take a few photos, and buy several Swiss army knives for Christmas gifts in the highest shopping area in Europe.

As I limped home I passed a restaurant that had a menu translated into English next to the Swiss German and French ones. One yummy dish had ‘chicken fillets with mushroom scum’ (not a good translation from filet de poulet a la mousse aux champignons).

Sunday
We left Zermatt, really happy with our week there. The kids made enormous progress with their skiing, to the point where Ludo was able to ditch his skis for the snowboard and enjoy some more challenging runs. He and Emile had a few board runs by themselves when the others had had enough.


Nicholas and Christophe; Justine and Veronique

Now we’re in the country-side near Sancerre, staying with Ludo’s cousins and it’s a weekend of feasting and family. They’re very good at feasting here. We had 26 last night at the table and 24 today for lunch. Crazy!

Cave a Vins; Le Cirque d'Hiver

Paris by Night

Paris. A reprise of our visit here last year. Francois was once again incredibly generous in hosting the six of us in his 30 square metre studio on the 5th floor (with no lift, which was challenging for this hobbler). Christmas Eve dinner at Ludo’s Mum’s and Christmas day in Versailles, though this year we chose to go to a restaurant in the gardens of the chateau, which was easier organization for 17 people.

Au Bord de la Seine

Ludo and the children spent a day at Eurodisney (which Mahalia says was awesome) and I went to the Musee Picasso. We went back to the Cirque d’Hiver, once again on the Bateaubus, to a wonderful Dufy exhibition (with 7 children – not recommended) and to the Comedie Francaise to see Cyrano de Bergerac. We caught up with friends for lunch and dinner and saw old movies in the old cinemas of the 5th arrondisement. We burned the candle at both ends and were rather weary when the time came to leave. On our last afternoon we ate the best crepe of the whole year under the Eiffel Tower, with our Paris cousins and Francoise. It was very hard to say farewell, especially for Ludo. Goodbye to his Mum and his sisters and his language and his culture, and not least important, his food and wine.

Virginie and Lucas; Emile and Jane

Our Last Day

We arrived at the airport with 160 kg of luggage (we were allowed 120kg) and managed to avoid the excess baggage charge of $60 per kilogram. And then we flew home.


And that was our year in France. The children are returning fluent in French, they’ve learned to cope with the frustration of a foreign environment and to persist in the face of adversity. They have made fast friends in the village, whose lives are far removed from their normal pampered existence in Sydney, and with their new lingual skills they have become closer to their French family, which was the primary motivation for this year away. We are all six of us closer to each other, as we’ve had to support each other through periods of homesickness, sickness and challenges. We spent more time together than we ever have before – walking in the mountains, travelling in the car, sitting around the fire at night.

This is the end of an amazing adventure that led us to many wonderful places in Europe, in France, in the Pyrenees, within our family, and in our hearts.