And now it is time for us to leave home

We have had a busy time preparing for our departure, the most pleasant part of which was making a special point of saying goodbye to our friends. We have had the chance to spend quality time with many, but sadly not all, which is rather what life is all about… When one shuffles off from this mortal coil there are always goodbyes that have never been said.

It has been a mild winter in Burgundy compared to the average, so much so, that before we left I re-planted my dahlia tubers on the basis that if they survive being planted early, maybe they will make a display for summer, even if we are not there. Most probably the result will be that the slugs get fatter on dahlia shoots and breed more and put the cherry trees at risk.

There is a significant difference in France between “Au Revoir” and “A Dieu”. The first indicates an intention to return and meet up again, and the second is final and means only a hope to meet again on the other side of the River Styx.

The Headmaster at the school where Marlene works, Sainte Ursule in Dole, is convinced that Marlene will not return to the school to take up again the teaching of 240 pupils every week. But not because she will be in a watery grave, but rather because she will find how wonderful life is, outside the academic maelstrom, that she will not want to return. But the truth is Marlene loves teaching English to these children and has adopted them like a large family of Grandchildren. She knows them all and it has been a big wrench to tear herself away.

Here she is with some of her colleagues on the last day at school.

 

Our friend Christian took us to the station at Seurre where the train for Dijon left exactly on time. I spent many years travelling on the French train system, and I have always been impressed with their punctuality. The TGV (Train Grand Vitesse) whisked us off to Paris in double quick time, where will spend a few days taking in the culture of this magnificent city.

 

Having said that, I am always somewhat uneasy in a large agglomeration, having been brought up alone on a Rhodesian farm. I find this concentration of people so strange, when the animals that I know from Africa all demand their own space and territory, and will not tolerate overcrowding. I have been fortunate, or unfortunate, to have visited cities as far apart as Lima in Peru to Sydney in Oz, from Cape Town to Leningrad and I still wonder at how people coexist in such conditions. It makes us even more grateful to have our home in a small village with a view of a river and forest with no passing traffic. A village of only 600 people, where some of them have never even walked down to the river to see what it looks like!

No wonder they are afraid for us, and concerned about our mental health, for wanting to wander the trackless ocean in search of another horizon.

But back to Paris.

We wandered through a small part of it near the Gare de Lyon, and of course strolled along the wharf of the “Port de Plaisance” where there is a selection of pristine barges and boats that seem to be permanently moored there. Some of them have crew on board whose sole job is to polish the brass and chrome fittings, and I must say they do gleam.

Of course I need to include a picture, for the record, of Notre Dame under a cloudy Parisian sky. Not bad weather for February, compared to what it can be at this time of the year.

 

Then we saw the “Garde Républicaine” whose motto includes the words “Honour, Service, Protocol, Security and Prestige”. They are responsible for the large horse and motorcycle escorts for the President of France and visiting Heads of State. The entrance gate is inlaid with the names of past guards who have lost their lives in different theatres of war over the last two hundred years. Inside the main court there are handsome horses, parked like motorcycles awaiting their next duty.

I can’t help thinking about my little horse Blackie and the freedom we had, growing up and exploring the African bush together. The sort of life that these horses will never know, but perhaps they have a dream of it somewhere in their psyche.

Just like the people here, they are prisoners of cities.

No wonder the call of the open ocean appeals to me.

Today we are meeting up with our friend Jean-Marie who is a doctor from rural France. He is lending us his apartment for a couple of nights, in Paris. He has just returned from a stint in Africa, this time in Burkina Faso. He goes out to different places in Africa at regular intervals to help, aid and operate on young women who have been traumatised and abused, and to teach the local doctors how to take care of these unfortunate victims of circumstance and religious intolerance.

I so admire him, because he could just spend his life in retirement, playing golf and comparing late model cars with other colleagues, but instead he puts his life at risk for the benefit of others.

He is a true generous soul.

 

 

We have just received a message from our agent in Egypt who says he will be at the Hurghada airport to meet us on arrival.

Here is what he wrote:

deer capten tony 

how are you ?

no proplem i orgnizo every thing 

and i wait them at air port 

see you soon 

 

I wish that I could write as well, in Arabic, as he does in English.

 

I am frightened to say “May Allah go with you”, in case I make a mistake and insult someone.