Written yesterday evening, but thanks to the wonderful internet connection in the French rural areas, I couldn’t upload it until now. I started this entry, tearing into a specific country and its citizens amazing skills in unsafe driving. But as I was typing away my frustrations, I thought it wouldn’t make for a nice post. And there are enough un-pleasantries online without me adding to that stinking pile, aren’t there?
This hobby is getting out of hand
This morning, I stuffed my car with things I’m not taking with me to Australia, but I’m not yet ready or willing to throw away, and headed South towards my parents in France. Besides those things I had one bag of clothing with me, and two bags (plus tripod) of photography stuff. This hobby is getting out of hand. Still, you don’t want to own something and then not have it with you when you can finally use it, do you? Truth be told, I ordered even more stuff which will be delivered at my sisters place. Then she’ll bring it with her next week when we meet up in France. Maybe I should seek some help, or maybe a third bag to store everything…
Anyway, I’m getting ready for the night to come, fire burning in the little cast iron stove in the living room / kitchen area of the old farmhouse. The faint smell of smoke in the air as it finds its way out through little cracks. (Because, you know, why use the gaping hole leading to the roof?) The days are still nice here, the temperature easily passes the 20 degrees, but apparently the nights are starting to get chilly with temperatures around 8 degrees.
I still have a window cracked open though. On one hand because I don’t need to suffocate during the night, on the other hand because I like the cold. Don’t ask me why I’m moving to a subtropical climate, love is blind.
I always love being here. Not just because it’s always nice to “go back home”, even though I didn’t grew up here, but because it’s so isolated from the world. You can see the Milkyway wind its way across the sky at clear nights, between uncountable amounts of stars. I’ll probably miss this place more than my own house. Of course, you should never compare your home with vacation homes.
The only downside to being here is not having Zoey with me. She was born here, right above the bedroom, on the attic of the old farm. Of her two brothers only one survived, and her mum still roams around as well. Her mum always waits for me in the morning, sitting on top of the car. Waiting patiently for me to walk by so she can climb onto my shoulders. This way she can safely enter the house without having to deal with the dogs. Clever girl. I haven’t seen her alleged father for a couple of years now, I’m guessing he died too, or maybe just moved on.
A disturbing realisation hit me a couple days ago. When Zoey gets delivered to Perth, she’ll have been in more mayor Australian cities than I have. How’s that for being outdone by a cat? At least everything is finally ready for her flight. All we need to do now is get her the required external and internal parasite treatments, for which the appointments have already been scheduled, and then have her paperwork legalized the day before she flies to Hong Kong, where I hope they won’t accidentally put her in the catering truck, before she flies on to Melbourne.
If everything goes as they’re supposed to, she should be in Perth on December 5th, which is coincidentally also the date for Sinterklaas (the Dutch predecessor of Christmas). So that would make for the perfect gift wouldn’t it? I can’t wait to be there with her. Finally being able to post some more interesting blogs, actually about Australia! Less than 50 days to go until my flight, of which I can spend a wonderful 21 days with my family in France and Switzerland. The going-away tour.