Final Days in the French Riviera -- Toulon

I’m starting this post from the CDG airport, Terminal 2B. I have a raging headache due to stress, dehydration, and the crying I did when Bibou gave me his last “bisou” and I said goodbye to Jerome in front of the Toulon train station. It took me five hours on the TGV train to get from Toulon to Paris, and I won’t even be able to get my first glimpse of the romantic city until I return on May 7^th. I’m sitting next to a fellow from Bordeaux who tells me that Paris isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. He says the atmosphere is stressed and the city itself is dirty. “Visit Bordeaux to see the real France,” he urges. He also tells me that I should have chosen to visit Turkey instead of Morocco. I tell him that I’m only 22 and that I have plenty of time. This is my first solo trip and I’m allowed to make as many blunders as I want.

Oh, yes. I’m going to Morocco. This explains my presence at the airport. A non-EU citizen can only travel within the Schengen Area for 90 days out of every 180. I spent 16 days in Denmark and 63 days in France. This puts me at 79 days (for those of you who have difficulty adding 16 and 63). I considered going back to Ireland, but as I just spent 4 months in the Emerald Isle, I thought it would be best to try something new. Turkey was an option. Morocco was an option. As I’m continuing to plug along with the French Rosetta Stone program, I figured it would be a good idea to spend a couple more months in a French speaking country. So after a meditative run on the beach and 2 hours of intense  journaling (Caroline nearly had a conniption at my fly-be-the-seat-of-my-pants decision making process), Morocco won out and I bought my plane ticket.  I think it will be a really challenging, world-view altering experience for me. I’m a bit apprehensive about the prospect of couchsurfing and traveling in such a new culture by myself, but I want to be the type of person who does this sort of thing. I want to have enough courage and good sense to make a trip like this safe and fulfilling. I want to be the kind of person who can handle and appreciate experiencing drastically different cultures without needing someone from my own culture to constantly relate with.  ‘Nuff said.

My last few days in the Riviera were bittersweet, as my last few days at each placement normally are. This was a bit different though, as I have been part of a family here in a way I haven’t been in the past. I’ve been part of a family who did everything within their power to make me feel like I belonged with them (even with the blood sausage for breakfast). I am going to miss Bibou’s bisous, Caroline’s contagious laughter, and Jerome’s excellent advice on just about everything. I’m also going to miss watching the way Caroline, Jerome, and Bibou function as a family. There are some family dynamics that make one cringe and wonder how in the world they make it through each day. This family has the very best dynamics. Affectionate, assertive, sensitive, logical. It’s an atmosphere I’m going to miss.

On the way home from the mountains on Thursday evening, we stopped at a roadside American restaurant for a late dinner. It was called Buffalo Bill’s. It had a very large Indian statue at the door. Bibou was given a bull mask by a server as soon as we entered. The televisions weren’t broadcasting the usual football/rugby matches, but were subjecting its mostly French audience to American rodeo.

Mmm, stereotypes.

I ordered the least American dish on the menu, and enjoyed it immensely. Steak Tartare, anyone? 

During my final weekend with the Pernots, they treated me to raclette. This is a very heavy, fatty, slow, mountain meal.  One places a slice of raclette cheese into a grill that sits in the middle of the table, waits for the cheese to bubble, and then pours it over potatoes and various types of ham. I substituted sweet potatoes for the regular kind, and the taste was superb. 

Raclette cheese

Raclette meats. The striated stuff in the middle is Andouille sausage -- a  specialty from Brittany made entirely from pig intestines. It had a very odd taste. I couldn't really tell whether or not I liked it. 

Before the raclette, we went to the market for fresh veggies and to the local coffee shop to pick up some "George Clooney", as Caroline put it. 

It's a little over the top...

Monday was my last full day with the Pernots, so we went on a picnic together at a nearby beach. I am going to miss French picnics, even though I was never able to taste a typical baguette sandwich.

Thanks to Jerome, Caroline, and Bibou for welcoming me into your home and for taking such good care of me. Thanks to Aurelie and Vincent for letting me practice teaching yoga and taking me out to an amazing dinner. Thanks to Maryline and Jean Philip for the medicine and the "yogurt". Thanks to Xavier for the motorcycle ride and the fondue. You all made my experience in the French Riviera absolutely unforgettable -- in the very best way.