It’s 4 a.m. and I’m bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in my hotel at Sydney airport. In just a couple of hours I’ll be on the final leg of my travels home to Narooma. And as I contemplate the wonders of the last three months I find I’m yearning for the chorus of bird-song, the susurrus of the sea and the purrs and nuzzlings of a small grey cat. What lies ahead has the allure that the Temple of Hatshepsut and Châteaux Comtal had for me back in April.
So quickly does memory dissipate, that what has passed already seems incredible to me. I’ve visted Giza, Thebes, Karnak, Dendera, Kom Ombo, Aswan, Abu Simbel, Cairo, Prague, Kutna Hora, Český Krumlov, Munich, Lyon, Toulouse, Narbonne, Trèbes, Moissac, St Hillaire, Sainte-Marie de Villeneuve, Brousse-et-Villaret, Perpignan, Marseilles, Cassis, Limoux, Paris – and, of course, Carcassone. And I’ve written a book.
The whole adventure was so long in the planning that it seems very weird that it’s now over. Reality is about to set in.
Before I turn the final page on the trip, however, I should report that HWB and I managed to cram in a few more extraordinary experiences in our last week. As foreshadowed, Carcassonne put on quite a show to celebrate the completion of my book. What others might have noted as the 14 Juillet fireworks were truly spectacular. La Cité was illuminated, and at one stage appeared to be burning, much as it must have done in the famous seige of 1240. In fact, there was a bit of a contretemps when things got out of hand and an actual fire broke out in the Tower of the Inquisition. The pompiers managed to contain it but there will need to be some reconstruction work.
HWB and I enjoyed stellar views from our apartment where we held a small gathering with our new friends from Mexico, Lainey and Eric. It was a fitting send off.
On Wednesday we took a day trip to lovely Limoux, a small town about half an hour by train from Carcassonne. As previously recorded, Limoux lays claim to being the home of bubbly and we enjoyed a meal in the town square accompanied by a bouteille de blanquette.
But the piece de resistance, of course, was our swansong sojourn in Paris. Ah, Paris!
The was my fourth visit to the city of love, but the first with HWB and we galloped around doing all the touristy things – Eiffel Tower, Sacre Coeur, Moulin Rouge – and an afternoon exploring the works of Monet and Van Gough at the Musée D’Orsay. I also managed to squeeze in a feed of escargots, though my aspiration to eat frog legs remains unsatisfied. I guess that just means that I’ll have to return to France one day.
The grand finale of all grand finales was a night out at the famous Lido, where HWB and I goggled at the gorgeousness of long-legged, feather-fluttering young women doing the can-can. and the incredible illusions of a Marcel Marceau-type mime artist.
And so, my French sojourn concludes.
I’m packing up my putative French speaking skills and relinquishing the savour of chevre frais, but most of all I’m mourning the loss of my daily baguette. I will miss Monique’s beaming face each morning as she greeted me, and the taste of the best form of bread known to humankind. For all its splendours, Narooma doesn’t have a boulangerie.
I’ve been writing of the journey being over, but perhaps it would be more correct to say that Phase One is complete because there’s a whole new world of exploration ahead. I was overwhelmed by the generous outpouring of congratulations I received from family, friends and colleagues around the world when I announced my final full stop, but I know that in fact the writing of the book may have been the easy bit. As I return to work, I am now contemplating the daunting reality of seeking an agent and publisher while keeping my eye on the ultimate goal of holding my printed book in my hand.
The journey continues …
Being Boomer - A Writer's Journal 