Our European Holiday

On May 6 a gorgeous Aussie Bloke called Paul (who I personally find a bit of a spunk), arrived at Charles de Gaulle airport for the second time this year. This time I was waiting for him, no surprises. He stayed with me and the Remeau family in our boring little town of Lagny. Hector and Edgar loved having a guy around to play rowdy games with in the back yard. I think they loved it best when he pretended to be a motorbike, revving and scooting across the trampoline with them on his back.
Edgar had his third birthday on the 12th. I made the cake as both his parents were at work all day. It was chocolate with strawberries through the middle and on top. Edgar's favourite present was the squashy AFL Swans footie Paul bought for him. Paul was proud.

Paul and I spent a week in France helping out the family and doing some relaxing things in the surrounding countryside and also in the city. This included exploring parks in Chantilly and Ermenonville (the scene of our first reunion in February) and a cruise along the Seine River in Paris. Isabelle's parents, Mamie and Papi (grandma and grandpa) arrived not long after Paul did to take responsibility of the boys, so we were free to travel.
A two week adventure through the Czech Republic and Austria followed. Our first stop was Prague. We encountered many strange hair-dos there. The men seemed to have a liking for long, rock-starish pony tails, or worse still, pony-tailed mullets. It was like walking back in time. There were also plenty women sporting David Bowie-type short mullets and looking anything but feminine.
I had been to Prague once before on my previous world trip. That was three and a half years ago and back then it was covered in a magical layer of snow. I fell in love with the city then and seeing it in spring just made me fall deeper in love. My highlight was the sports hall restaurant down the road from our hostel. Although tackily decorated and smoky inside, it served up the biggest and best quality meals. Paul had a mixed grill both times we dined there, and I opted for the pork and cabbage filled potato pancake the first time and a enormous chicken schnitzel with cabbage salad and mini potato pancakes the second. Thankfully many delightful walks along the Vltava river at sunset kept our fatty meals from having any negative effect on our figures. On the down side, Prague did throw a few sneaky people in our path. We were ripped off by a tour guide up on the Hradcany hill, short changed at a hotdog stand in Wenceslas Square, and also short changed at the Asian supermarket across the road from our hostel. There are many more stories we could tell of our time in Prague (maybe one day you could ask us about 'cake boy', 'owl man', 'the beggar' and 'angry pizza man').
After five nights in the Czech captial we headed south for three nights to the medieval town of Cesky Krumlov. This gorgeous village nestled in a loop of the Vltava has been found out! The amount of Aussie accents were heard was surprising. But this didn't stop it from being my favourite part of our trip. We tourists were well catered for. There were plenty of cute little souvenir stores with non-tacky wooden toys and trinkets. It was in one of these stores that Paul found a wooden pencil case in the shape of a giant pencil. He chose a blue one. I believe this purchase was the highlight of his trip.
Although it rained most of our time there, we enjoyed exploring the town museum, the castle gardens, dinning at a medieval and at a classic Czech restaurant, plus lounging around in our cozy hostel making pancakes and watching Czech films (with subtitles) in the common room.
A shuttle bus and train ride later, we arrived in a cloud covered Salzburg, Austria. It had been a dream of mine since high school to visit this Austrian town, all thanks to that classic 1965 film 'The Sound of Music'. Paul and I were both a bit disappointed our first day there. Our hostel was a huge place, invaded by German speaking school groups who ran around early morning and late at night banging doors and keeping us awake. We also did not like being growled at by a scary lady from the hostel kitchen when she saw at breakfast, that we had wrapped up two bread rolls to take with us for later. Thankfully we didn't understand what she was crying at us and avoided her the following two mornings.
On Friday night things picked up. After spending a day up in the historic fort on the hill, we were rewarded by our decision to dine at Maccas and won two free desserts through a Euro UEFA Cup 2008 competition (the Cup is being held in Austria and Switzerland and starts this weekend). The sun came out as we were walked across a bridge from the old town, another lift to our spirits, and we were pleasantly entertained at the marionette theatre by a performance of 'The Sound of Music'. The following day we went on a four hour Sound of Music bus tour which showed us many sites from the film, and told us the true story of the Trapp family as well as stories from the making of the film. The 'hills' and lakes surrounding Salzburg were glorious, although not so filled with pleasant music as our tradition costume-clad, very gay and friendly tour guide tried to imitate 'Do-Re-Mi'... unsuccessfully.
Our last two nights were passed in Vienna. Well and truly museum-and-palaced-out, we didn't attempt to engage with the city's history. Instead we were intrigued by the mass of Emo youth filling and destroying a beautiful park on Sunday afternoon, and by the many street performers in the main pedestrian district. We watched a violin-playing statue argue with three drunks who mocked him, a group of Hungarian break-dancers spin and whirl whilst making bad jokes and convincing the audience to give money, and native American Mexicans dance in front of a big placard with a message we didn't understand. We also managed to find an English cinema and watch the Indiana Jones movie - another disappointment, although not without some enjoyable moments. Our final night we dined out at Figl Müller, a place I had heard about three years ago. I still remembered its name and where it was located. I'm glad I did. We both had schnitzel, I chicken and Paul the house specialty. His was bigger than his plate! It was a great end to the trip.
Three more nights together in Lagny passed quickly. Our last night together we went into Paris, had great pizza and sat under the Eiffel Tower. We missed the last train back to our dead-end town, (a very stressful occurrence), and had to catch another train to the airport and then a taxi home. We were four euros short of our fare, but Praise God, the taxi driver settled for the thirty we gave him.
May 31: Saying goodbye at the airport was a little sad. I didn't cry. As I walked away from Paul towards the train station, I did blink back a few stinging tears. But I kept telling myself that it was our last goodbye and next time we saw each other it would be to stay together for good.

New things...

Yesterday Lily the cat gave birth to 5 kittens! Isabelle found them at 5am. Woken by sweeky meows, she searched around her bedroom and found them in a pile under the wardrobe. Now reunited with their mum and in a little cat bed, they are safe and healthy. Good news. Bad news is there are now 7 cats in the house: Lily, the famous Gaston (who, turns out, really is a boy cat) and the kittens. You know how much I love cats! But the little ones are so cute and helpless.

Other news things in my life today include:

• Sunny hot day in Paris, a massively welcome first
• Eating an icecream in Paris
• The RER trains being stiflingly hot
• Smelling B.O., result of the heat rises on public transport
• Wearing a skirt

Farewell Winter

To all those who have been checking this page or hassling me about it, please pardon my laziness and inconsistency in keeping you updated on my life in France.

Since my last online blogging presence, I’ve been a few places. In February I was beginning to feel very far from Paul and family. The winter greyness was weighing down on my spirit. But the last weekend of the month, a little colour was added to my life.

On Friday the 22^nd I caught two trains from Paris down to Grenoble, a university town surrounded by mountains and close to the Swiss boarder. I stayed there until Tuesday with Mia and Roger Dambach. (Mia and I went to church together for a few years in Sydney. She moved over to France after marrying Roger two years ago and has since mastered the language and adapted to European life.) It was a really uplifting time. Not only did I get to see the sun and learn to cross-country ski, I was encouraged my Mia and Roger as Christians and the fellowship I had with them and the people from their small French church. I loved going to a French church. It was my first time. (I’ve been going to an English speaking international church in Paris) There is something wonderful about hearing God praised and prayed to in a different language – a language that I actually understand now! I also really enjoyed Sunday afternoon after church. Mia and Roger invited two English exchange students – Harriett and David – for lunch and an afternoon ‘walk’ which turned into a 2 hour hike including scaling the walls of an old, ruined fort.

Monday I spent exploring Geneva while Mia was at work at the UN. Although just across the Swiss boarder, I found the city had a distinctly different feel to the French ones I have visited. I really appreciated the break from the French men and the French dog poo on the foot paths. Almost everywhere I went I could see a little doggie-bag dispenser. I noticed that there were lots of clocks, that there were more blue-eyed people, that the Swiss accent was much slower and wider than the French, and that the people seemed very orderly and less impassioned than their French neighbours.

Tuesday morning was a relaxing time of shopping with Mia. I was happy to be with someone who loved shoes and handbags as much, if not more, than me. Before going to the train station and leaving for the north, I was treated to a killer chocolate charlotte cake as a birthday celebration.

Back in Lagny le Sec, the next day dawned and I was feeling miserable with a heavy cold and sorry for myself. Paul was apparently away from Sydney for work and out of mobile range, and mum had told me that she’d call on Thursday. These people knew it was my 22^nd birthday. Didn’t they know I’d appreciate a bit of love?! Bertrand was home with the boys and I was hiding in my bedroom. He asked if I wouldn’t mind looking after Hector and Edgar, as he had to go to work for an hour and a half, and then he’d be back. Off he went leaving me with the crazy little ones. When he returned I was trying to feed them pasta for an early lunch so I could shoo them off to their nap-time and get some rest myself.

“What are you doing? Come on, we’re going out for lunch. Isa’s organized something.”

Oops. I’d totally misunderstood his French instructions that he gave me when I’d stumbled out of bed that morning.

We hurried into our coats and boots and as we reach the car, for some strange reason, I went to the driver’s side thinking it was the passengers. It was the first time I have done that since being in Europe. Australia was on my mind.

“Sorry.” I tell Bertrand, “I’m really sick. Don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re sick?” He asks, “Don’t worry. I think we have the medicine for that.”

“Oh... I don’t need medicine.” I reply, totally missing that he wasn’t being literal and thinking I should protest against the French’s love of medication and pharmaceutical cures for tiny ailments.

We drove off in the direction of Ermonville, a gorgeous little town 10 mins away, and I asked Bertrand how work was. He told me a story about how frustrating all the paper work is that he has to complete before his next work trip as an military flight instructor. I also asked him about the ski trip we were going on the following weekend.

“Who’s coming?” I enquired.

“Us, our friends Michel and Cecile and their daughter Charlotte, plus Emilie, (the 20 year old daughter of Edgar’s daytime nanny), to look after the children.”

“Oh, but I can look after the children,” I protest, a little hurt and confused.

“Uhuh.” Was the only response I got.

Arriving in Ermonville we pulled up outside the famous Chateau (featured in the French film ‘The Visitors’).

‘They can’t be taking me here for lunch,’ I think, ‘It’ll cost a forturne!’

I was totally confused as Bertrand lead me and the boys up to the front steps and told us to pose for a photo. As I tried to get the boys to stand still, I happened to turn around to face the glass front doors of the Chateau. All of a sudden a very familiar face pops out from behind the doors and asked in a warm Aussie accent,

“Can I get in the photo too?”

‘That person looks and sounds incredibly a lot like Paul,’ my mind told me. ‘What on earth is going on? Has he sent someone over that looks like him to surprise me. What a stupid idea, can’t be that.’

“Baby, it’s me,” Paul says.

Never in my life have I been so stunned, shocked, speechless. I just stood there.

‘No, maybe he’s come to spend the day with me,’ I thought, ‘Just to be with me for my birthday.’

“What the…?” are the only words I could manage.

“I’m here for ten days, baby!” he continues to a motionless me, “Ten whole days. I’m going to come on the skiing trip with you and the family.”

Everything in my head told me that Paul standing in front of me was an impossibility. But there he was, my romantic fiancé standing at the foot of a French chateau giving me the biggest birthday surprise of my life. Although it took about a day for the shock to really wear-off and for me to realise my own Paul was REALLY here with me, I had a wonderful time at the chateau restaurant over what was probably the most expensive and delicious meal of my life. We sat there holding hands and just fixing our eyes on each other. We couldn’t wipe the happy smiles from our faces. Paul had a fun time explaining how his plan had unraveled since it’s birth in January. To top it all off, he gave me a large bottle of Chanel Chance perfume. As if his surprise wasn’t a big enough present!

The following ten days at the snow in the French Alps were action packed. Paul seeing me learn to ski – the terror filled screams, the tears of frustration, the whoops of joy – showed him a side of me he never knew existed. Thankfully, he is still prepared to marry me! He was wonderful as I struggled, and he hung around for me when he could have been off skiing more fun and tricky slopes, and we stopped regularly for glasses of hot wine when I’d had enough.

We managed to squeeze in a day of sight-seeing in Paris (horrible drizzly and grey day), a day in Chantilly and Senlis, and a visit to my church Trinity the night Paul had to flight back to Sydney. Saying goodbye again was pretty painful.

Not to worry, a weekend with Alex was soon to follow and keep my pining for Paul at bay. Alex, one of my closest girlfriends from uni, is on exchange for a year in Reims, a town in the Champagne region only 45 minutes TGV train ride from Paris. Unfortunately this pretty city suffers from the same grey, unpredictable weather as my region. But who cares about the weather when you can pass the time with a best friend?

We enjoyed cooking Asian food (SO rare in France); drinking cheap but great supermarket wine; eating Ben & Jerry’s ice cream (another great supermarket find); watching Friends on DVD; going to the cinema and seeing a French film, the closing scene of which we couldn’t quite understand; going to Alex’s church’s Easter service; and doing a Champagne house tour (our tour group consisted of two Aussie and one Kiwi couple. Oh how we enjoyed the relief of Down-Under humour! ...and the glasses of Champagne at the close of the tour!)

April has almost passed by. With some lovely American and Canadian girls from church, I’ve enjoyed exploring a few of the many Parisian museums and churches including the Musée Rodin, Musée Quai Branly, the Musée des Arts Decoratifs at the Louvre, the Musée Carnavalet – a favourite, as it’s free and tracks the history of Paris, and the Pantheon. All the tulips and daffodils have emerged in the green parks in colourful array. I’ve also been trying to combat boredom (my French course ended at the close of March) and sadness, but busying myself with wedding invitation making and reading a few good English books.

The past weekend was without a doubt the best part of April for me. Alex and I, along with our beautiful friend Di (also on exchange in France for the year), flew to Copenhagen for the weekend. From our hotel next to central station, we could reach all the main sights of the town on foot. Highlights of the weekend included: non-French junk food such as hot dogs, ice cream and 7/11 smoothies; being in a different, more calm and colourful culture; meeting an old Danish ex-school teacher called John at the changing of the guard at the royal winter residence (he delightfully told us all about the history of the square and buildings all around us, and explained the whole ceremony to us); Di’s puns and Alex’s jokes; a boat tour around the beautiful canals and water ways; English-speaking TV including… Home and Away!!!!; the fun and loving company of my two beautiful friends.

It was with a bit of a sinking feeling that I returned to dull-old Lagny le Sec yesterday, having just had such a great weekend. But I am only six days off greeting my hansom fiancé at the airport. He’s coming to France once again to visit me. This time it’s not a surprise. I think the next few days will drag and seem like the longest of my life… (Here I sigh and smile.)

For photos of Grenoble and Geneva click here

For photos of Paul's surprise visit click here and here

For photos of Alex and me in Reims click here

For photos of my life in France click here

For photos of France in Springtime click here

For photos of the weekend in Copenhagen click here

Building Up A Fortress

I was trying to explain to a friend in an email recently the reason why I have been feeling so raw, fragile and so prone to emotional moments since moving here. I told her I felt like all my security and world had been ripped away making me so vulnerable and exposed. I've had to build a life over again... from scratch. Well, I'm so happy to say that the foundations have been laid and the walls of my new world are finally being built. That's been possible because a bunch of new friends made and some old faces popping up recently.

Last Thursday I spent the day with Naomi, a friend from Annandale Community Church in Sydney who has been traveling for the past couple of months with her hubby Rowan. We traipsed through the 18th arondissment of Paris, Montmartre, home to Amélie Poulain, Moulin Rouge, the Sacre Coeur Catherdral and the history of many bohemian artists, cinéasts and writers. These days it is swamped by tourists and filled with tacky souvenir stores and sex shops as well as strange French men who think that just because you're speaking a different language means you're easy to get into bed. But Montmartre does have is charm and gorgeous little spots also. Naomi and I did a lot of walking. We began by marveling at the beautiful interior of the Sacre Coeur and it's magestic domes, whilst a French mass service was being held. We then followed the little cobble stoned lane behind the huge church the a collection of café and gallery filled streets. We stopped to admire the artwork and kept walking when numerous street artists requested to sketch us. Next we found the grocer's store that is featured in the film 'Amélie'. Remember the horrible grocer Colignon? Well, his shop is run but this funny middle eastern man (with a difficult to understand accent) who beckoned us in when he saw us taking pictures from the street. He then continued to instruct me to take a photo of him with Naomi, and, as I was the one who was speaking in French to him, told me that Naomi was his girlfriend.
'Non! Elle est mariée!' I told him.
'Et vous?'
'Je suis mariée aussi', I lied and held up my engagement ring.
The minute he and his friend in the shop found out we were not available they were no longer interested in chatting. But he gave us a lolly each anyway.
After more walking we found the Musée de la Vie Romantique, a romantic old fashioned house hid amongst blocks of apartments. It was once the home of the Dutch artist Ary Scheffer and is filled with portraits and sculptures, including sculptures of the musician and composer Chopin's hands. As it was a municipal run museum it was free to enter which made it even more enjoyable.
It was lovely hanging out with Naomi, chatting about her and Rowan's travels, church and Paul, and it was great to hear her Aussie accent and to use mine too.
That night I hung out with my new American and Canadian girlfriends from my new church small group and we had dinner and watched chunks of Anne of Green Gables on YouTube. We laughed a lot. It has been a blessing to find these girls and make friends with people in a similar situation to me. And the best thing is that we can joke and laugh together, because we understand each other and can communicate properly!
Friday I found the most gorgeous fabric in a little boutique store at the foot of the Sacre Coeur. I purchased the remaining three and a half metres to incorporate into my wedding dress that my Aunt Esther is working on back home. In the evening, my dear friend Alex came to stay for the weekend. In our two days together we joyfully explored the Chateau of Chantilly, watched the new Asterix movie with Isa and the boys, (Asterix and the Olympic games - look out for Zidane at the end!), and Paris including the Opera House, the 2 Moulins (the café which Amélie works at in the famous movie), Notre Dame and the Eiffel tower. We also managed to fit in small group and church and it was great for an old friend to meet my new ones.

Today is Valentine's Day and I woke to the pleasant surprise of an Paul email from Paul including a movie he made for me. And then, when on Skype chatting to him, a bunch of Twelve red roses we delivered from him to me. I'm engaged to the most romantic man I've ever met :-)

Photos of my weekend with Alex

English Wednesday

Today I believe that I have successfully taught Edgar to say "Apple, please", albeit with a very Frenchy accent. Wednesdays in France are school free (well, at least for the young'uns). It is the day every jeaune fille au-pair in the country is set to work. In our household, les mercredis are supposedly 'English Wednesdays'. I say supposedly, as I've often forgotten and it's easier to speak French to the boys to be understood. However, this morning I made an effort and said everything in English over lunch and then repeated it in French. It's surprising how much the boys seem to understand. When i called to them at about 2pm,
"It's time to have a sleep. Sleeep. Sleep."
All completely in English. Hector said,
"Non, je veut pas faire dodo!" (No! I don't want to take a nap.) I was was so excited he understood, I almost lost the battle for them to take their siesta.
Other words learnt today included 'bottom', (as in 'Sit on you bottom!') and 'rain', as there is much of it and it is the reason we can jump on the trampoline.
Other highlights of the day include Edgar pooing in his undies, Edgar colouring in the armrest of a chair in orange texta, Hector smashing a bowl, Edgar weeing in his undies, not being able to open the washing machine door... and it's only early afternoon.

My Feline Frenzy

(Disclaimer: do not read the first three paragraphs if you are a lover of cute, furry-purry animals and you don't want your rosy perception of me marred for life)

I have heard said that from no matter what distance a cat may fall or jump, it will always land on its feet. I believe I proved that theory wrong last night. The Rameau's have two cats, Lilly and her child Gaston. Lilly is a quiet, slim and timid grey cat with black stripes running down her back. She spends most of the day sleeping on the upstairs landing on an old children's foam armchair outside Bertrand and Isa's bedroom. Gaston has a boy's name yes, but after consulting her friend Gillaine, Isa has decided he is a girl despite his boisterous and violent nature. Only six months old, he is twice the size of his mother and his black and white body is enormously fat. He spends his days running from one end of the house to the other, chasing after childrens toys, jumping on Lilly and mauling her head, or outside catching field mice and trying to bring them in at the end of the day as very unappreciated gifts.

Anyone that knows me well knows that, probably next to flies and parrots and magpies or any birds that swoop, I loath cats more than any creature in existence. I once house sat the home of family friends for one month, sharing the place with a similar pair of cats - one shy, skinny one, and one obese, bullying one. I night I found that the latter had brought a pigeon indoors and plucked and devoured it on the Kitchen floor. It was then that my passionate hate for this particular species was born.

And so after a testing weekend with the little French boys, when Gaston crawled my stockinged knee under the dinner table (the third time this has occurred in a week!), I screamed English obscenities, grabbed the foul beast around the middle and thrust him out of the front door with all my might. He landed several metres away on his bottom... not on his feet. Ah, the satisfaction. I sigh with pleasure when I write about it.

Okay, I believe I have lost my friendship with Alex and Aunty Carol has probably disinherited me at this point, but there's just a taste of some of the frustrations I face every day.

Life is heading onwards steadily and amazingly I'm already a month and a half into my stay. I've been taking French lessons three days a week with 12 other au-pairs in Paris. The travelling to and from can sometimes be a drag, because the trains to my village don't come very often and I'm stuck if I every miss one. I visited a great international church in Paris last Sunday and hope to go back, but like I said, the travelling to and from the city does take its toll.

I've also discovered for myself that French men can be suave and charming, and will come up with anything to talk to me. Like Vincent, a tall bulky IT guy in a leather jacket, who walked up to me in the Jardins du Luxembourg asking me if I thought men or women were the biggest liars and then had a conversation on the topic for a good 20 minutes. Like... what the? And then there was A... something... can't remember his name, who was a lot less sleezy. Short, wild curly brown hair and works at Paul's bakery in the Gare du Nord train station (where I spend half my life!) After church last Sunday night, I was hanging arround waiting for my train and bought a sandwich there just as they were getting ready to close. I then walked away and ate it leaning against a pillar. A few minutes later, French bakery boy A came up to me and asked me how my sandwich was.
"Good thanks", I reply
"Of what origin are you," he continues, "Belgian?"
"Australian"
"Ah!" He's surprised "I heard a bit of an accent but wasn't sure."
I'm flattered he thought I was French speaking, but from a different country, even if this assumption was ascertained in a mere interchange on what types of sandwich there were over the counter a few minutes before. He asks me what I'm doing in France and what time my train is coming.
He's still standing there, so I ask him what I'd just been thinking about.
"What do you do with the sandwiches that aren't sold?"
"We throw them out"
"Oh, that's a shame. There's so many people in the city without food"
"Would you like some of the sandwiches?"
"Ahh... Well I can't really eat them all myself"
"Do you like Tuna?"
"Well, yeah"
"I finish in a few minutes, if you like, wait here and I'll bring you some sandwhiches"
Five minutes later A rocks up again, this time changed out of his bakers outfit, and carrying a bulky plastic bag. He asks me if I smoke. No. Did I want to go for a drink? Not really, my train comes soon and I don't want to miss it. Did I want to go somewhere to chat? Not really, again, I'm afraid I might miss my train as its the last one to my village tonight. Sure. So we go out the front of the station and I tell him about the charity Oz Harvest in Sydney and he tells me about how they tie up all they don't sell in plastic bags before putting in the bins outside, so that they're kept clean for any one who cares to rummage through searching for some dinner.
A then finds my train for me, gives me the plastic bag, and asks me if I want his number. Maybe next time I say. Not a problem. He winks and waves good bye. Before you're too hard on him, he was much MUCH nicer than Vincent who I had met earlier in the day, he used the formal 'you' form the whole time we spoke - very polite, and he didn't ask me for MY number nor was he forceful. When I got on the train I opened the plastic bag and found 4 tuna foot-long baguette sandwiches, two ham and cheese, two salami, plus two Galettes des Rois (Kings cakes) and a giant chocolate macaroon.
So French men are interesting. I'm still figuring out how to best handle them.

In terms of other aspects of life here in Lagny, I feel like I've reached a new stage with the little terrors Hector and Edgar accepting and loving me this week. We've spent a lot of time together as Isabelle worked four days straight for 12 hours each day. We've had fun playing on their giant trampoline in the freezing cold, and I made lamingtons for them on Australia day.
I've also enjoyed jogging or cycling each day, on a circuit that goes through some nearby fields for approximately 2 kilometres. Sometimes it almost kills me, particularly when there is an icy wind and my nose and chest ache. But there is nothing that can replace the great energy and natural high exerising in the cold gives me.
And on the subject of my heart, in a way it has grown normal for me now to be separated from Paul although there are some days when I miss him like crazy. We talk on Skype once and sometimes even twice a day and average over and hour for each time we talk. Paul brought an apartment in Lane Cove last week, which is so exciting and a wonderful answer to prayer. I can't wait to move in, decorate and make it our home.

Wondrous news! In the midst of writing this, I was interrupted by a Skype call from Paul, which in turn was interrupted by Isa calling my from the upstairs bathroom for my help.
"Beth, I need your help, come! I think that the cats should no more be allowed in the house."
Oh, music to my ears! But what could have caused this declaration? I run up the stairs.
"Come look" she says, pointing into the bathroom sink. What's Gaston done, I think. Has he some how stuffed a dead mouse down the drain, I muse. Nope. There in the sink are a small scattering of dead little brown insects. A naked Hector and Edgar are standing there in the bathroom with us and Isa begins ruffling through Edgar's hair. Suddenly, the small red marks on Isa's neck that have been bothering her for the past few days make sense. Lice! Nits! Fleas!
In true French form, (it seems most French people take the smallest ailment with extreme seriousness and have multiple bathroom cabinets full of every type of pharmaceutical product you can imagine), we are taking drastic action. Tonight, all our bedclothes, pillows, and some of our clothes have been thrown in the wash, along with the fur collar of Isa's coat and all the combs, brushes and hair accessories in the house. We've all put this pungent treatment in our hair that will stay there till morning, when we will rise early and shampoo. Since being up there in the bathroom with this horror revealed to me, I've been scratching my scalp and neck like crazy.
But despite all this drama, who cares? Because Isa has proclaimed, 'The cats are no longer allowed in the house!'

Stockholm

The moment my feet step off the coach and onto the ground at the Cityterminalen, an over joyed young lady holding a small toy mousse wearing a yellow t-shirt and a blank postcard of Stockholm, runs at me and before I know it she's kissing my cheek and holding me in a hug. This is my first hug in 5 weekends. Colinda, one of my dearest friends and future bridesmaid, is traveling the world in the school holidays (she's a primary school teacher back in Sydney), and she's invited me to join her for a weekend in Stockholm. Having lived in Sweden the whole of 2006 as an au-pair, she has some wonderful friends there who are pretty much like family to her.

In true Colinda style, I'm whisked off the coach from Skavsta airport and pulled down the escalators into the central subway station walking at a speed only worthy of Colinda's energy. We head off for a late lunch and share a potato salad sandwich (hmmm, interesting combination, but I have made such a creation before at home, just never seen it for sale at a café!) As we sit catching up on everything that's happened in the past 5 weeks to both of us, I'm almost lost for words at one point as I look at her pretty face and think, 'Wow, I'm actually talking to Colinda, on the other side of the world!' How good it was to finally see a friend.

The whole weekend continues at the same crazy pace as it began the moment Colinda picked me up. Lots of socialising and hardly any sleep - although I love the girly late night chats we have, together with Colinda's friend Anna who we stay with. I get to meet Elsa, one of Colinda's closest friends who I have heard so much about. When we went to meet her on that first afternoon after our potato-salad sandwich, she's standing outside the entry to a train station near her studio apartment. It's very close to the river bank and there is an icy breeze whipping around the rosy-nosed, rugged-up pedestrians. Elsa has pink cheeks, light-blue eyes, and blonde bun. She smiles gently at me and says hello, holding out her hand for me to shake. It take it, and, having spent 5 weeks in France greeting people with a kiss, having come from Sydney where there are no greeting rules and anything goes, and because she's such a good friend of Colinda's and I feel I already know her I lean over and kiss her cheek. She seems a little surprised but charmed. I learn over my three days in Stockholm, that in Sweden you greet your friends with a hug and press your right cheeks together. It is difficult for me to refrain this now inbuilt French mentality to kiss, and I make the same mistake again on Saturday night with Elsa. As she walks into the hotel lobby we are meeting in she comes over to me, puts an arm around my shoulder and holds out her cheek to me. Think there was only one thing to do I kiss it.

"Oh!" she says with surprise, "Oh... well, that was nice."
She smiles, a little taken a back, and I apologise and am embarassed. But at the end of the evening she says goodbye to me and says, "Now I will return it" and kiss me on the cheek and gives me a hug. I think that my confused French-Australian ways endear me to Elsa.
Aside from the crowds of friends I made through Colinda and the fun and love I received from them, the most uplifting highlight of my weekend is going to 'New Life' church on Sunday.

Though the first few songs are in Swedish, I am overwhelmed with how wonderful it is to be worshiping the Lord with people from a different language and culture and to know that we are all a part of God's family. After the message and in the closing section of songs I am brought to tears and being to sob. Firstly, I didn't realise how starved of friendship and fellowship I have been my first month in France. Having traveled to a different region of France each weekend with my French family for Christmas and New Year celebrations, I haven't had the chance to find a church or make friends. My host family is fantastic and I wouldn't want any other, but my relationship with them isn't like the Christian relationships and friendships I have at home. Secondly, I am overwhelmed by God's goodness to me and feel so close to Him. After the church service Colinda puts her arms around me and Anna holds my hand with both of hers and they both pray for my in English and Swedish.

There are many stories I could tell and details I could share about the weekend, (and I am keeping a longer record of my travels, it's just hard to write that spontaneously and share it), but the main thing is that I met some wonderful people and made some wonderful friends. I also met a couple of people who have Christian friends in Paris or know of churches there and they've been passing on the details, which is great. I've been inspired to find Christian friends and fellowship her, just like Colinda found in her time as an au-pair in Sweden. And I've been brought to my knees praying to and Praising God for His goodness and blessing on me and my time here. I couldn't be happier.
(PS Sorry this entry is so all over the place and not very polished, nor does it say much about Stockholm or my impressions of the Swedish people - slightly reserved unless they are friends of friends like the people I met, love to speak English and they all do!, and every second Christian I met had been to Sydney to visit or study at Hillsong - but I figured family and close friends won't mind my messy writing which I've splattered onto the screen after just waking up and still feeling groggy)
A few more Photos