I suppose simply being here should not be a surprise. But it continually surprises me; I thought I was just coming on holiday for a bit… I think Gap compounds this sensation by its idyllic nature. Every shuttered window and every sunset-lit mountain, every pain au chocolat and every ill advised third glass of wine insists this is not real life, and any minute the shutters will come rolling down and I’ll have to go home.
However, the show does go on, and thankfully my audiences of French teenagers seem to have taken to me quite well. Some of them even let me eat with them tonight. Others shake my hand. I did catch some girls giggling once, but then realised I was wearing my T-shirt inside out, so it’s 50-50 as to whether they were giggling at my good looks or my inability to get dressed for work. Oh and they also think it’s really funny I like cereal. Seems if its not pastry it’s a no go for breakfast.
I do get homesick though. I miss all kinds of things. I just tell myself you always want what you can’t have. I must have made a decision at some point to come all this way from home, so I have only myself to blame for missing it.
OH. And I did also spend my first day with Italians. The rumours are true, they are the slowest people in the world. I pray no Italians get this far through this post. But I’ll be damned if it didn’t take them THRICE the amount of time it would take any Englishman to complete any activity / walk / social custom.
And now I’m going to try and travel through strike stricken France to see friends and see France. It’s a valiant aim and one I intend to at least try and get on a train for. Wish me la chance, and wish me le courage.