Epilogue…
Monday 25 November
We are now on the slow trains back to Geneva which is going to take us some 8-9 days because we can’t take our bikes on all the trains that travel. This journey in itself will be something else. Leòn, Burgos, San Sébastien, Hendaye, Biarritz with Xavier’s Aunty, Bordeaux, Toulouse, Nîmes and eventually Geneva. We left Santiago de Compostela via train to Ponferrada via Vigo at 10:30am and arrived at 7pm. Between Santiago and Vigo we were able to retrace our tracks and had an entirely different experience of the bridges, roads and paths we travelled across. We could feel what the terrain looked like and realised that we breathed with the terrain, it’s highs and lows. The autumn colors became more pronounced as we ventured further inland with Xavier noting that it feels like the end. The end of a season, the end of a trip. The end of what the fruits brought forward in the spring, which burst into life over summer, matured in the autumn and now saying good bye. The floor of the forest lining the majestic Rio Minho covered with a blanket of rich goodbye colors. An undulating landscape which is fleeting. We are disconnected from the world outside, from its aromas, from its sensations, from its colours, from its fruits. Although the leafless trees suggest harder, colder times to come. The number of abandoned homes and buildings along the railway track is curious. Where did all these people go? Madrid, Barcelona, Paris, London. The importance of employment, the necessity of a community, the relevance of culture in all its forms are all too clear in such moments.
Mario and Angel the volunteer ‘parents’ welcomed us into the bustling albergues in Ponferrada. There would have been 50 or so pilgrims most of which were on their way to Santiago. The younger ones had already consumed quite a lot of alcohol and were very happy with ‘bon camino’ being screamed out every 10 minutes. There were a few others, less hedonistic and a great deal more ponderous. We reheated the left overs we had cooked in Santiago for a quick yet wholesome dinner finished with our Camino de Santiago almond cake in celebration. Mario and Angel made sure that lights were out at 9:30pm. The boys slept in a seperate dorm and Mario went in to remind the others glued to their devices that others might want to sleep. The boys thought that was very nice. Mario and Angel were generous. Angel gifted us five coquilles saint jaques that he found in a bay when he did the English walk. He had put holes in them ready to be threaded and worn with love. Souvenirs that restore ones faith in our ability for empathy and warmth. They remarked our independance and how well equipped we were and had plenty of questions – Where we got our ‘carte credentiale’ which is different to most they see, our journey and the boys which have been the highlight for everyone. The fact that they have completed the 6,000kms and were still in good spirits is a source of much inspiration.
Tuesday 26 November
An early start today at 6:30 to make sure we would be ready to be kicked out at 8am. The room Lisa and Xavier shared with the couple from Korea smelt like the winter beast’s den. As we prepared breakfast the kitchen area started to fill. Some ready for the Camino ahead, others less so. After taking a photo with Angel and Mario we had plenty of time to kill before our train to Leòn. The not too distant mountains clearly had a nice blanket of snow cover them overnight, explaining the sharp chill in the air as we rode to visit the Templar Knight castle which we couldn’t visit because it opened at 10. It was barely 8:30am by that stage. While the birds sang, the sunrise crept up on us at the castle. We watched the pink and orange streaks play with the pale blue of the sky and the almost blue black base of the snow capped mountains. We rode through the streets waiting for the city to wake up and stumbled across a shoe shop with reasonably priced winter boots which the boys need before we get to Geneva where the temperature will drop a great deal further. We’ve all managed up until now with socks, thermal socks and our open sandals. It was a pure case of window shopping though and decided we would go back at 10am once it was open.
On the way to the train station we went by a tobacco shop and bought ourselves Spanish cards to replace the Italian cards that Xavier put in the washing machine in Porto. We played a few games of Scopa and Briscola while they boys continued to draw in the warmth of the waiting room. At 10am we went back to the shoe shop which was a failure. They didn’t have any of the sizes we needed. We went back to the station via the supermarket. Made delicious sandwiches for the train trip on the window sills of the train station and got on our train at about midday. The train was very slow and we ended up being 50 minutes late into Leòn. We made our way to the apartment, did the grocery shopping for the Puttanesca tonight and then made our way to the San Isidore Basilica museum to see the supposed Holy Grail, otherwise known as the Chalice of Doña Urraca, which we have been planning on seeing ever since we watched the documentary back in Randwick all those months ago.
We weren’t allowed to visit the museum without a guide so we accompanied a group of people to each of the key exhibits. Despite the tour being in Spanish, we manage to understand quite a bit. The tour guide also handed us some French language sheets to explain what she was saying in Spanish. The tour was incredible. The supposed Holy Grail didn’t disappoint and much to Léon’s delight we were even able to see the chipped lip of the onyx cup which is supposedly the cup Jesus drank out of. It was an impressively lasagna object, to use Tiziana’s metaphor. The jewels and gold have hid the onyx cup so well since the 11th century. A truly mysterious piece to behold. We then went on to visit other areas in the Basilica and most notably the pantheon of kings with its 1000 year old paintings that had not been restored in anyway since they were made, simply cleaned. The markings, the patterns were so immediate, so raw, so demonstrative that your eyeballs were fulfillingly massaged as they absorbed the surface, the ridges, the colours. The narrative of each month; the final supper, the killing of the innocent, the crucifixion, it was all there to take in. Another room which is now used for conferences showed a priest shoving a book down someone’s mouth, while the person being stuffed and on his knees, piously looking up at him. Sick – reminiscent of Greenaway’s The Draughtsman’s Contract. There was a carving of Hercules’ bust on the underside of a curving wall beneath the stairs which depicted Hercules wearing a lion’s head head dress. The quality of this carving was incredible, leaving the impression the fur was being blown by the strong wind coming through the stairwell.
On our way back to the apartment we made our way through the narrow streets being pushed back and forth by the chilling, howling wind. The cathedral offered us some respite.
We learnt tonight that the ominous clouds we saw in the distance while on the train earlier today were the vestige of the deadly weather conditions in the south of France and Italy that killed 9 people yesterday. Between the flooding in Venice, the storms in Rome, the destruction in Emilia Romagna, the fires in Australia and now these deadly storms, it really does feel like we are living the apocalypse. There is a strangely deep calm that is preparing for death.
Wednesday 27 November
Woke up at 4:30 this morning to make sure we could catch the next train from Leòn to Palencia at 6:40. Plaza Mayor de Leòn was a dramatic set at 5:30am. Its intimate human scale, weathered sandstone columns forming arches around the large square plaza adorned with intricately laced metal work holding lights that glowed, filling the entire square with a solemn, deep romanticism enhanced by the cascading greenery and red flowers spotted around the square. We rode around in it, quietly, absorbing its beauty. Breathed deeply and said goodbye, weaving our way through the narrow streets we walked yesterday and ushered out by the majestic lions signalling the beginning and the end of the bridge over which we rode. We were 10 minutes ahead of ourselves so when the train pulled into the platform, we started slowly loading our bags and bikes into the bike carriage. As we were doing this, we had a ticket controller ask us how many bikes we had. We confirmed three, with two that were to be packaged (therefore not consider bikes anymore but baggage that you don’t have to buy tickets for). He insisted that we had five bikes even though we had paid for three, so making an argument out of a non argument.
He went into the carriage to check the number of bags we had. Xavier pulled out his phone to show him the rules of the Renfe we were abiding by. He pointed out that they needed to be in a sheath. When he saw that we started wrapping the bikes in the tarps we had, he finally walked away without a word and got on with whatever else he was supposed to be doing. He seemed intent on making this trip an unpleasant one. He later came by to check our tickets with an air of disgruntled defeat that we had abided by the rules…
We got to Palencia in the dark although it was 8am. It was absolutely freezing and all we wanted to do was find a roof to put over our heads to stop the cold descending on and through us. We made our way into the train station where we stayed until 10am. People didn’t know what to make of us when we arrived. People are either afraid, suspicious or confused. Each of these emotions stopping them from engaging or making eye contact with us. It was only after we had been there for some 45 minutes, watching our movements and interactions, that they then felt they had (almost) nothing to fear. After the 45 minutes they were just less nervous but still watchful.
At 10am we went to the cathedral only to discover that the central nave was being restored and so we could only go around the outside and underground to see the most powerful section which was originally a visigoth temple upon which they built other churches and eventually the cathedral. We saw El Greco’s San Sébastien in situ which was a real treat. The importance of context of cultural objects has been made clear during this trip. Their singularity in their original locations makes them so much more relevant and provides a glue to so many of the other pieces in the puzzle. Thoughts went to the El Greco we saw in Toledo, and the antiquities we saw in Lisbon as part of the Mr 5% collection. While incredibly beautiful objects in their own right, to see them in their original context with the meaning a place fills the object with, would have been like the museum in Ronda – an existentiel experience stewing over a visceral fire that changes one’s appreciation for the very wholesome and all encompassing concept of culture forever.
We went back to the train station and this time started to make our way to the platform headed for Burgos. It was a short train ride of only 50 minutes and then we went straight to the dodgy hotel riding in the rain and cold wind, dropped our bags off, tried to have a little siesta while we waited for the Museum of Human Evolution to open at 4:30pm. The weather outside inspired us little but we knew that what was waiting for us in the museum was well worth another 2km ride in the cold wind and rain. We weren’t disappointed.
To begin with, the museography and exhibition design was once again excellent. Simple, easy to digest, very informative and made for each of the streakers, strollers and readers. We read everything from beginning to end. The explanation of where the valley was where they found these incredible human, although not Homo sapiens, remains from over 500,000 years ago and animal remains from over 1.3 million years ago. There was an excellent exhibition on Charles Darwin and his On the Origin of Species and theory of evolution which triggered a number of questions from the boys.
It was fabulous to understand that the amniotic environment during pregnancy is a remnant from our water dwelling days and the membrane is a safety for the embryo against gravity and other harmful forces that may disrupt the development of the embryo’s vital soft tissues. The wax figures of the different human species were spectacularly life-like and simply frightening. Having had so little sleep and therefore all feeling a little jet lagged, we all had the impression that they could move and that they possibly did. The wax figure created based on the pelvis (Elvis the pelvis) was staggering. As was the little boy who we could have sworn was real. It was also extraordinary to see the tools that were used by the various species. The red hand axe that was mind bending. Found in a grave, it’s suggested that it’s the oldest reference of symbolic behaviour found, given that the stone was not from the area. The skulls of the 500,000 year old species were unreal. Over the terrible dinner we had, we remarked how excellent the museography has been in Spain. Despite Burgos being recognised as a gastronomic city, our experience was the total opposite, but the fact that we are on a budget probably didn’t help, although we remembered the excellent and very cheap lunch we had in Santiago de Compostela. We went back to the hotel exhausted but feeling very lucky to have experienced the magic of the Museum of Human Evolution in Burgos.
Thursday 28 November
For the first time in a few days we woke up at 8am. It was good to sleep in although we all felt that we could have stayed in bed a little longer. If only the bed would have been a little more comfortable, we may well have, but they were sink holes. The only way of sleeping flat was to lie on the edge of the bed. It was a weird hotel. One that felt like it was used purely by construction workers and/or prostitutes. It felt like it was on the edge of bankruptcy with minimal investment in the hotel, broken glass table tops, phantom reception that is never manned except by four video cameras in which you and god knows who else could see. You could call out ‘hola’ all you liked, but in the end Lisa had to go upstairs and do a round of the rooms to see if she could find someone, which she did and brought her back down to the reception to deal with us. The check-in yesterday was convoluted and there seemed to be little understanding of our booking. So when it came to breakfast this morning, we went down and there was no one – only the four screens playing us back to ourselves. Lisa had to get on the phone and find out what we were to expect of breakfast that was included. At first the woman was only offering us drinks and when I asked about actual breakfast she reluctantly obliged and had to whip up some ham and cheese with toasted bread on chipped plates and a small serving of tea. It felt like we were having to force her to make us breakfast. We had never had quite an experience like it so far.
Burgos itself has a charming town centre but the outskirts seem to be rows and rows of medium rise apartment blocks but there are so few people about. One wonders wether they are actually made for people living in Burgos. After the so-called breakfast we made our way to the Burgos cathedral but stumbled across a modern perhaps 1950’s church with a peculiar external architecture that captivated Xavier and drew us inside. From the outside the 90 degree roof kept stepping up until it reached a cross at the apex and then fell away, into an unknown world. The vertical facades were covered in brightly coloured glass. The heavy wooden doors were carved out with very Steiner looking forms and figures. It was a cavernous interior with three levels and in the main right angled corner, itself like an alter, a very large wooden Jesus Christ figure carved out in the style of what the boys said was like a troubling cartoon animation in the style of Geiger. This figure looking out to the layered coloured glass panels that from the outside look like stairs leading to the cross. The boys responded very strongly to the church saying that it was too big, too cold, that the Jesus Christ figure expressed an exaggerated sense of pain which led to an interesting whispered conversation in the church about the life of Jesus, a mere mortal, and the religious myth making that ensued. We made our way to the Burgos cathedral which was modelled on the same designs as Reims and Amiens.
The combination of gothic, baroque, Flemish, Italian architecture, sculpture and paintings meant that there was an enormous amount to digest. One of the most impressive findings was however the ‘Cofre de El Cid’ the same El Cid that inspired the Camino that we did, which was definitely one of the most spectacular moments during our trip traversing at times what seemed Mars like terrain. The man himself was incredibly complex, powerfully righteous with an emotional intelligence and honour that leaves many modern politicians looking like blabbering imbeciles.
We made our way to Burgos train station with groceries in hand for a descent homemade lunch. As the boys started to prepare the bikes, Lisa made lunch. In no time however we realised that the train was about to arrive and we were still preparing bikes and lunches. The stress kicked in and we had to rush to get on to the platform and the sandwiches remained half done. We eventually got on the train, Lisa pulled out the sandwiches again to finish them off and just as she was chopping the tomatoes, the ticket person came over informing all passengers that in 20 minutes we all had to get off this train, change tracks and get onto another less comfortable train. Many of the older women were very annoyed at him because there was no explanation and they had already settled in to the idea of a 4 hour train ride on the comfort of the media distancia train. Lisa had to repackage the unfinished sandwiches and we had to get ready to disembark the bags, the bikes, etc. We arrived at Pancorbo train station and piled out on to a small country town platform surrounded by beautiful mountainous rocky peaks. Within a few minutes we were told to make our way across the railway lines onto the other platform. While we were all piling in that direction, all the others in the other train were piling in the opposite direction. After settling in again, Lisa finally got to finish the sandwiches and we were finally able to have a late lunch.
We arrived into San Sébastien at 5pm and it was pouring. Each drop felt like a chick pea. Painful when it got you in the eyeball.
We waited for the rain to subside before making our way to the very comfortable apartment we are staying in tonight. Xavier had enough time to go to the supermarket and it still wasn’t letting up. We took off nonetheless because we were starting to get hungry and we were already cold and tired. We managed to prepare a nice warm soup before bed, which given the attitude Arsène and Oreste were spewing, sleep couldn’t come fast enough!
Friday 29 November
Today we ride from San Sébastien to Anglet. Today we say goodbye and thank you to Spain and head into France again. It was a day with sunshine and clouds and notably, no rain. It felt a great deal warmer in San Sébastien than what we had experienced since Porto. It was evident in the colour of the tree leaves, which still had traces of green. The amber trees still had yellow leaves holding on.
We weaved our way through the streets all the way to Irun and then after crossing the bridge of Santiago we were back in France again. As soon as we got to the French side we were greeted with a bizarre scene of one guy calling out to another on the opposite side who couldn’t hear him because he was too busy looking down over the edge of the bridge and in the bushes. A police officer emerged and all three continued their search for whatever it was, leaning over fences to ask something of the people in their garden. We continued on our way.
We thought that we were going to experience the same driver etiquette we experienced in the north of France months ago but boy did we get that wrong. We were all on High alert just as we were in Switzerland because we realised that not only did the southerners not have any consciousness of cyclists, but they were intentionally menacing. One “Vieux Con” insisted on overtaking Lisa to insert himself between Arsène and Lisa, so when Xavier – at the head of our Indian line – started to turn left this stupid driver came within a few centimetres of Arsène’s red bike bags. Lisa screamed abuse at the moron who then insisted on getting as close as he possibly could to Oreste and Xavier and intentionally accelerated swerving so close to Xavier that we were all in shocked disbelief. That was drop kick number one. The idiot didn’t get very far so by the time Xavier caught up with him, he heard what we all thought of him in the pure unedited French version that was deserved. There were so many more that passed way too close and at speed but the serious screaming and hurling abuse came after lunch when we were riding along the coastal road with no or very narrow shoulders for bikes and absolute morons continued to put our lives in danger by driving at speed way too close. Lisa was absolutely furious and moved into the middle of the lane to protect the boys. If we couldn’t trust others to look after them, we were obliged to take on that responsibility. One idiot beeped and Lisa just signalled to overtake using the left lane and if there was another car coming, well he would simply have to wait. This idea that cars have the priority is such a bullshit illusion created by the polluting automotive industry that stripped every individuals’ right to use transit corridors in a variety of way that suit all sorts of users. People’s attitude to cyclists really has to change if cities are going to reduce congestion.
On arrival into Bayonne it was horrifying to see the number of cars stuck in traffic jams containing only one person. So many people over the last few months honk at you in encouragement, they give you the thumbs up, but saving the planet seems to be something that other people do. Not you. You’re way too busy. Xavier was almost wiped out by another arsehole who not only sped up to cut out in front of him but then intentionally came really close to him when he over took him further down the road. Lisa was the last as usual in the Indian line as we were stuck in traffic and at a red light. We were in a bus and bike lane. As Lisa was waiting this massive bus just crept up to her left trying to squeeze in between the cars to the bus’ left and Lisa. In absolute disbelief, Lisa once again hurled abuse at this stupid bus driver who was only some 15cms from Lisa’s bike. It really was unbelievable particularly given that the traffic wasn’t going anywhere anyway and that it was a shared bus and bike lane
By the time we reached the hotel we were all beside ourselves. All the intimidation of what it’s like riding in Sydney surged forth. Lisa wanted to go straight to Geneva and not spend anytime or money in this agressive cesspit. How stupid are people really? What’s the point? To get to the next red light faster? Is it worth carrying the death of someone on your conscience or putting someone in a wheel chair? Is this really something to aim for? What does it take? How life changing is it to be able to wait 5, 10, 20 seconds so everyone is safe? How fulfilling is it to be an arsehole? What is wrong with people?
Spain is hands down an international leader and they deserve a great deal more credit than what they get. Their drivers, their etiquette, their respect for a variety of others is simply exemplary.
We finally made it to our long awaited dinner with Beatrice and Jean-Claude who we haven’t seen in decades.
The last time Xavier saw his Aunty was when he delivered the gorgeous LuLu before he left Switzerland for Australia. LuLu, the family’s beautiful black Great Dane, was the last of a string of many and Xavier’s mother’s last before she passed away. LuLu was so funny, so gentle. She was a mouse in the body of a giant and never really quite realised how big she was. Her expressions, her sighs, her excitement. Just adorable. LuLu stayed with Beatrice and Jean-Claude for many years. She was a great source of joy and happiness for everyone. The photo albums came out and we got to see how LuLu spent her final years. The boys got to see photos of their grandmother, who they unfortunately never met, and to see pictures of all the other family members in their younger years.
Lisa often laments the fact that the boys never got to meet this incredibly smart, knowledgeable, able, tough, feminine grandmother of theirs with a wickedly sophisticated wit and sense of humour and a heart so full and wholesome that thoughts of her always delivers a pang of longing. As parents Lisa and Xavier often wonder how the boys’ lives would have changed if they would have had the opportunity to meet such an incredible woman. She would have been such a strong presence in the lives and would have shaped their souls in a way that no one else could. It was a night where we were reminded of her brilliance and how much we miss her. We have been so fortunate to meet with Marc, Jean and now Beatrice who as Monique’s siblings, carry a very strong, representative piece of her. But Beatrice has this added dimension of La Mamie, the boys’ great grandmother who died Christmas last year. This powerful woman that had lived through the German occupation of their farm, survived her husband, her daughter and had an iron core that was delivered with the greatest of grace and the pointedness of a dart when needed. Beatrice, made the beautiful salad “A la Mamie” and shared with us two different types of basque cakes (natural and cerise). Virginie showed up at about 10:30pm after work and reinvigorated all of us with her jovial, spirit and sharp intellect. La famille Jardini is spectacularly colourful. Filled to the brim with creative spirits, sharp minds, mind miners, refreshingly curious, excitingly liberated creative spirits that with ease devise new approaches, alternative insights. They are just pure magic. The boys have certainly drunk deeply from the holy grail of “La famille Jardini”. Every time they talk about them there is a twinkle in their eyes. It’s moments like this that the distance of Australia is sorely felt like a banishment from an extended family love.
Saturday 30 November
We woke up later than usual given we got to bed so very late last night. It was so wonderful to spend time with Beatrice, Jean-Claude and Virginie who is such a flamboyant, considered, character. The type of which is rare to find these days.
This morning we realised that the trip we thought we were going to be able to do won’t be realisable because of the TER train system in France. Tonight we go to Tarbe instead of Bordeaux and we have to be back in Geneva by December 4 because there is a national train strike starting on the 5th. We have to get back ASAP and in any case, the weather is starting to prove very challenging and making every outting far from pleasurable. It was pouring cold today.
We experienced the best “Chocolat à l’eau” today with Beatrice and Virginie. Sour, creamy, thick. Omptuous. We said our goodbyes to Virginie and Beatrice in the centre of town as it poured … again. The sadness we feel stems from a longing for more time with these wonderful kinds. Despite the composure, nothing could hide our sense of loss, sadness. We were trumped by the vindictiveness of distance. It’s such a long time between visits that we know that the world and our worlds will be very different when we next see one another – if we see one another again. Time passes way too fast and the desire to be bathed in the presence of such wit is like a drug, the more you have the more you want. The Jardini are completely addictive. We left Bayonne train station in the pouring rain and under the cover of darkness. Oreste, Léon and Lisa started to feel quezzy on the train and then to top it off Lisa and Léon landed a ‘gillet jaune’ who thought that he had fallen on his own when he saw us wearing our yellow rain jackets.
Lisa quizzed him, challenged him and in the end, he decided that it was all too difficult and that the conversation should end there, but that was only after he told us that he was going to vote Le Pen the next time round because of all the immigrants that come here – side stepping the fact that he himself is Portuguese – and that his taxes, which he has to pay when he’s not paid cash, cover everything for the refugees whose country, France, and other western countries have contributed in destroying. He felt completely hopeless when it came to the future of the world and that the only thing he was hell bent on doing was making sure his kids had as much ‘stuff’ as they could. When I asked him about the quality of the world his anger and hate would leave for his children, he said he’s only one person that he can’t change anything.
Sunday 1 December
Today we left Tarbe and headed for Toulouse. It was a crispy morning where breathing created a trace in the air. It was clear from the train trip that we were heading into a university city with younger crowds filling the wagons. Arriving into Toulouse was like arriving into a cloud. Visibility was low as was the temperature and ultimately our morale. With only two days left before we are back in Geneva, the end of this trip has overcome us. There are still several places we will go but with bikes. As demanding as it is, the hit of endorphins is life giving. Riding off into the sunset is becoming more and more of a temptation.
Monday 2 December
This morning we left Toulouse under the same cover of cloud as we arrived. A nice enough city but one that perhaps was coloured by the reality of our long journey coming to an end. People we met, experiences we had, perfumes we inhaled, new things we filled our bellies with, passed through our minds’ eyes as fast as the train flashed by this beautiful landscape which included le Canal du Midi. We soon crossed the Rhône river again which pulled us even closer to the idea of home. The last time we saw the Rhône was in the summer when we enjoyed its freshness in the summer heat and drifted along with its current. This time however, the Rhône was opaque and angry, it churned moving fast and was a reminder of the terrible floods this region had just a few days ago that killed seven people. Knowing the power of the tempest that had just passed, travelling over the river on a bridge in a train was not reassuring. We eventually made it to Avignon and went straight to the train station office to buy the most expensive train tickets yet to Geneva for our final leg tomorrow. We visited ‘Le Pont’ to dance with the wind on it straight after but not before managing to finally find affordable, quality, closed winter shoes for the boys that will be needed for the upcoming winter, and that we’d been looking for since Porto. Sur le Pont D’Avignon the wind blew hard, blowing Arsène’s hat off and almost taking his new shoes still in the bag, others had to hold on to the scarily low railings. In some instances we had to take shelter behind the chapel of St Bénézet who inspired the construction of the bridge in the 12th century to protect us from the force of the wind. We took time to visit the museum about Le Pont and followed up on that with a visit to the Papal Palace which became the Papal seat from 1309 to 1377 instead of Rome.
The day finished very fittingly, in fact it was the perfect end to our trip. A very cold, windy, wintery yet beautifully painted Sunset overlooking Avignon. Without acknowledging it we all knew that this was a powerful and symbolic end to this trip so we danced, hugged, kissed, cheered and released our gratitude and appreciation on top of “Le tour des Grands Dignitaires” in the Papal Palace. By the time we left it was dark and we made our way through the charmingly lit streets of Avignon to make our way to the apartment that was waiting for us. We were absolutely frozen yet filled from within with a belly glowing warm joy and admiration for one another. As parents, Lisa and Xavier were in awe of these three boys who despite not being compliant at all with the school work, took this trip on and saw it through without too much effort and when there were demanding moments, they saw them through too, met the challenge and kept on moving. The sense of security and trust they had in Lisa and Xavier that we would all get to wherever next was a frightening act of pure and unconditional love.
As we prepared dinner the Mistral howled outside and we were so very happy to be inside protected from the cold and wind. We pondered what it would have been like sleeping in the tent tonight and although we would have been warm and comfortable in our sleeping bags, having to prepare the tent, dinner and bed would have been yet another challenge. The boys were so excited about their new shoes which we sprayed to make them impermeable. It was so cold outside that we put what would normally be destined for a fridge on the window ledge outside. An idea Oreste loved.
Tuesday 3 December
This morning we left Avignon, pleased with what had achieved so far. But also conscious of the fact that we hadn’t hit home base yet and that there was still plenty of room for error in these last kilometres by train. We made it to the train station and had sometime to calmly get into our train in good time. We travelled from Avignon to Valence where we had to wait for 2 hours before our connecting train to Geneva arrived. At 13:15 we were able to board the train to Geneva. Our excitement levels were reaching new heights. We were so excited about finding the family home again, of being surrounded by its warmth, security and memories.
We travelled through beautiful landscapes created by the many natural reserves and national parks in this region of Vaucluse, Occitane, Drôme, Ardèche. It was full of memories for Xavier who travelled through these regions and in particular to Pougnadoresse. As children Xavier and his sister would spend hours frolicking through the long grass with the Great Danes Orloff and Calypso searching for preying mantis and other beautiful insects. Xavier’s father inspired a love of nature and beautiful things in his children as an impassioned collector of insects, reptiles and amphibians, which he kept in the family home for many years before the death of Xavier’s mother.
We travelled through areas that had clearly been ravaged by the storm with tree branches snapped and spread across vast areas, trees uprooted. As we approached Geneva we started to marvel at the magnificent mountains, the beautiful lakes and then, the Salève.
Xavier followed the Rhône, telling us which way the train was going to turn next, whipping up our excitement, and then inching our way closer to Switzerland we reminded ourselves that the last time we were here, was at 5am on 10 August, when we left for Schauffhaussen which seemed so long ago now. We laughed at the memory of he boys not wanting to cross into the German boarder. And then, we reached our promised land of Switzerland.
We started shuffling, collecting our belongings, preparing our bags, all of this dotted with bursts of excitement from Xavier about where we were. The train pulled into Geneva Cornavin and we were in love. We were greeted by Fred’s public artwork up in lights, just as we left it. We almost didn’t feel the cold when we reached the platform. We made our way through a deserted customs and we were back in Geneva – at Rue des Gares!
We rode to the supermarket, bought some groceries for dinner and breakfast tomorrow, like usual, and made our way through the very unattractive and downright ugly traffic jams that took all the magic away. We were overtaken at high speed by other dangerous drivers, probably all frustrated by the amount of time they had to sit in the traffic jams they helped create. We reached the family home gates, where we played a game of secret code pass poems and took a photo to mark the moment.
We made our way in and then we knew we made it. Yes, we made it. We really did make it. Such a sense of relief and fatigue that started to overcome us almost immediately. But we stayed up fairly late, taking our time to cook, eat and shower knowing that tomorrow morning we could sleep in and that tonight we could rest – really rest.
