The last goodbyes

19 June – 22 June 2020

After what seemed like months of goodbye events and provençale bucket list ticking, suddenly we were in our last 2 days in Aix. 

The need to pack hung over us like a menacing storm, along with the realisation that our ‘much reduced’ belongings had again seemingly expanded like the blob to a size and weight that would be impossible to get either to the airport or on the plane home. Whilst we were certain that we were not going to fit even half our stuff, our belongings slowly made their way from the house (which, by this time looked as though we had been living there for 4 years rather than 4 weeks) to the garage to be loaded. 

(Side note: In theory, our stuff at this stage represented just the ‘bare necessities’ required to keep us going for our last 4 weeks of spring and summer in Aix. All the winter clothes and ski gear were gone in the 9 boxes and 4 bags that we had already shipped home but were still enjoying the early European summer in a warehouse in London. In fact, we had been loaded up with so many school books, french books, presents and materials to keep us sane in quarantine that it felt like we were almost back to where we started). 

On the morning of our second last day, Bonnie and Anthony headed out in the pre-dawn darkness to the base of the Pilon du Roi, a square shaped rock on the ridge which separates Provence from Marseille. We had beeen admiring the Pilon from our balcony in Opera, from the window in Rue Thiers and from our terrace in Mimet. It somehow connected all 3 places together for us and was the last on our list of ‘must do’ activities. Fortunately, it is a short 40 minute hike up from the carpark a short drive from our house, and we were soon admiring the stunning views as sunrise lit up the Sainte Victoire and surrounding landscape to the north and Marseille and the Mediterranean Sea to the south.

From there, it was back to drop the kids for the all but last time to school. Spirits were still high and they bounded in excitedly to see their friends and their teachers. Ellie, fresh off her sleepovers and playdates with Ysilas and Anouck earlier in the week, was off to a final sleepover at Anaïs’s house in Marseille. We wondered, when would it hit them? Who would it hit? It felt like we were about to embark on some cruel social experiment. 

Speaking of experiments, we then spent the remainder of the morning attacking our bags. Amazingly, we managed to compress our stuff into a ‘theoretically’ acceptable 6 duffle bags, 1 bike bag, 5 carry on bags, and what looked like a full car load of random shopping bags that we would absolutely ‘need’ for our upcoming weekend to Lyon. No matter how much we do this, we just seem to get worse at this whole packing business. 

Anthony joined Matthias for a farewell lunch and game of tennis at the Set Club in Eguilles for the afternoon before heading off the final pick up. Its amazing how attached one can get to a ‘chore’ – which to be fair, is actually more of a social event than anything else. 

That evening, Liz went off to a final girls night out in Aix …. Whilst Anthony continued Jessie’s Marvel education with a screening of Captain America before Jean came around for a number of farewell drinks. 

Our last day in Aix dawned bright and beautiful. Summer was definately here just as we were leaving, with the forecasts for the following week hitting the mid 30s (for us, in a hotel in Melbourne, the forecast for the next 2 weeks would be 22 and stuffy).

We loaded Jessie and Sena – still all smiles – into the car and set off. We wondered when it was going to hit. Not yet apparently. 

Some of our closest friends had come to drop offs to say a final, final goodbye. We were expecting it to be a bit hard but not too bad. We had done this so many times that we were good at it, right? There was no doubt we would see these guys again, whether in Aix, Australia or somewhere else in the world.

It turns out that none of the logic matters, and tears were soon flowing freely. It only seemed like yesterday that we were meeting these guys for the first time – at the school orientation morning or first hit on the tennis courts almost a year ago. Our time together had flashed by incredibly quickly, and cruelly punctuated by 10 weeks of confinement. Still, there were so many wonderful shared experiences and fun highlights that we would remember and celebrate when we next met. 

Saying goodbye to our friends was also saying goodbye to our year here, to our experiences and the choices we had made. These were the people who, outside our immediately family, had shared our experiences, our choices and our memories of our time in Aix. They were all on their own adventures, and we were so fortunate that our adventures had intersected with theirs for what seemed like such a short period of time. Suddenly the fact that we were nearing the end of this chapter loomed large. And, despite our bravado, it felt no different from 25 years ago when we first learned the joys and perils of making friends with kids who didn’t live in your postcode. 

We eventually pulled ourselves away and made our way sadly out the school gate. 

The rest of the morning was a satisfyingly distracting rush of final house cleaning, charity dropoffs and car swaps…

and before we knew it, we were homeless and our worldly belongings were packed in a ridiculously large 9 seater Mercedes people mover for our trip to Lyon and on to Paris. 

We made our way back to school for the final time, not knowing what to expect. We had timed our run to hit post run recré, so as to not disrupt the class too much. 

We probably did pick ups in the wrong order. 

Sena was first out. With Noor in Holland, there were hugs for Florence and Kurosh and a massive cuddle for Miss Olivia before she made her way out, relatively happy and ready to go to Australia. So far so good. 

We then attempted to extract Jessie. It seemed like she was suddently enveloped by the whole of Primary school. Teaful Hugs for Miss Dawn through the fence and a big cuddle for Miss Sandrine, her old school strict but wonderfully caring French teacher before we lost Jessie in a sea of 8 year old girls. Tears everywhere. Teachers crying, kids crying, we were crying, zero progress being made towards our ultimate goal of leaving the school. Jessie, through the process, seemed to hold it together, more or less. 

From there, it was up to the playarea at the top of the school to pick up Ellie. We left Jessie with her friends, this time on the wrong side of the fence, leading to a large cluster of children hugging through the bars, jail visit style (what social distancing?). As with Jessie, both Mr Kevin and Miss Caroline were in tears, as were half of the CM1 grade. A cluster of 10 year old girls swamped Ellie and would not let her leave. Photos were taken, promises made and WhatsApp groups planned. More tears. 

(Side note: like so many things, it turns out its so much harder to watch your kids go through this than to do it yourself. The minute the teachers started crying we teared up too. There is no doubt that these teachers genuinely cared for our kids and did a wonderful job with them this year. And there is no doubt the impact that the kids had on that school. They walked in only 9 months ago, not knowing anyone or a word of French. They walked out with the primary school equivalent of an honour guard, and we couldn’t be prouder of them)

Finally we were out. We were a mess. So was Ellie. Jessie was quiet. Sena was fascinated by her presents. We took some final photos of the kids in front of the school and drove away for the final time (after negotiating our way out of being lovingly blockaded by Corey in the car park).. 

Jessie lost it. Ellie lost it. We felt guilty as hell. 

We made our way north to the lavender fields of Valensole to show the kids the purple fields before we left the area. They couldn’t have cared less. They just wanted to go back and see their friends. Really not the moment, as it turns out. 

From there, it was a 3 hour drive to Lyon and a final weekend with Fred and Noemie. 

It felt right that we were finishing the year as we had started it – from their beautiful terrrace enjoying the tranquility of their garden in the summer evening. We couldn’t believe it had been a year since we were eating salad lyonais and drinking rosé on that terrace, fresh from our flight from Dubai, with the whole year ahead of us. So much had happened, but it felt like only weeks ago. 

As always it was wonderful to see them again. The last time we were in Lyon was Christmas, our catch up plans for this year having been scuppered by competing trips and then covid. Still, we seemed to slip immediately back into the flow. The kids were soon playing in the pool and enjoying each others’ company – whilst there was still a strong undercurrent of sadness, this was what they needed. We were having a wine and catching up – which was exactly what we needed after such an emotional day too! 

(Side note: one satisfying observation is that the overall balance of language had shifted during year, with a noticeable equality between french and english being spoken. It will take a long time before watching the kids converse and play in French gets old, and Liz is now able to hold her own in French as well). 

We have used Fred and Noemie’s house as our base during our time here. Whilst we don’t live in the city, it is our foundation, our touchstone, our postal address, our staging post and, at various times through the year, our dog kennel and warehouse. It seems that each time we come through here we are overloaded with bags that need to be ‘repacked’. We come in, we trash the place, we get fed amazing wine and food, then we leave. We are terrible house guests. But for some reason they still keep inviting us back. That is true friendship. 

This trip was no different. We pulled up in a our people mover, crammed with all our bags, kids, dogs and dog boxes. They asked us what we would like to do for the weekend. Recover and repack we said. This is not an unfamiliar response either. Each time we visit we spend at least half our time repacking our bags for one reason or another. 

So, on Saturday, true to form and armed with the Qatar baggage rules, we repacked across our 6 bags, bike bag, 5 carry on backpacks and 5 newly purchased laptop, handbags and nappy bags. 17 bags in total. Almost 200 kgs. This was ridiculous. 

Saturday afternoon, after dropping Ellie and Elfie at a birthday party (yes, even not in her own town, Ellie gets invited to birthday parties!) we headed into Lyon to see Noemie’s first ever exposition of her wonderful graffiti artwork, even excitingly getting to select a piece for our house in Australia. 

That evening we had Cyril, Manu, Santi and Anna around for home cooked, woodfired pizza and lots of wine. We had got to know these guys pretty well over the year and it was lovely to be able to spend some time with them before we head out. 

Sunday came around way too fast. Bonnie, Magic and the kids literally spent all morning in the pool, and before we knew it we were enjoying a last lunch with the Guillots. One final swim, the last set of tearful farewells (at least we were practiced with these guys, and there was no doubt we would be seeing each other again soon) and we hit the road for the final stage of our trip. 

It will take us almost 3 weeks before we arrive at our home in Sydney from here, but this was the final stretch. We had survived the tears and the farewells, it was now just us again. It was time to hit the road again, to Paris, to Doha, Melbourne and then finally on to Sydney.

We were sad, happy, grateful and emotionally drained.  We weren’t really sure what we were feeling, so we just moved forward, pointing our unusually long van north on the autoroute and making our way towards Paris.

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