Last Goodbyes

As the rollercoaster ride that was Grand Final Day was now behind us, the end of our time in France was in sight. With just under two weeks to go, we still had a lot to pack in to that time. For Marty, there was Mad Monday and the end of season away trip (to Malta, no less). And for me, there were all those things I wanted to see and places I wanted to go ‘just one more time’…

Le Grand Café

Le Grand Café was the first French café that I sat down at to enjoy a chocolat chaud on our second day in Limoux. I had conversed with the barista on that day – my first conversation with an English-speaking Frenchman – about having moved to Limoux with my rugby-playing husband. His smile every time after that first meeting was so warm and welcoming.

We spent a lot of time at Le Grand in the first few weeks, using the free wifi and getting used to the café culture of our new town. I couldn’t leave without going to Le Grand and enjoying one last hot chocolate, French-style. So I did.

Run the Track

The first three months of our time in France, I overindulged in the sweet, sweet pastries that the country is known for. I threw caution to the wind and sampled every delicious delicacy that I saw. One thing that I did enjoy about the freezing winter (other than the snow), was the heavy jackets that I could hide under.

Months of eating this way expanded my waist (if you can believe that!) and sent my emotions on a rollercoaster. So in February I committed to working myself back into shape, physically and emotionally. I started running, from our house to the footy field, which was surrounded by a basic running track. The surface was rocky and rough, muddy even following some rain, but it had the most beautiful scenery at every step. Running that track changed my life.

On my last run, which was the day before we left Limoux, I sat on the grass of the field with my shoes and socks off, and just took in the picturesque surroundings. This was a moment I had to have, and won’t forget.

Cemetery

It sounds odd, but the whole time we were in Limoux we drove past the town’s cemetery, but never went in. Being such an old village, I was intrigued by what that cemetery was like inside; how ancient it was. I would have always wished I had gone in if I didn’t go. So I went. One day I just wandered down.

The entrance was surrounded by beautiful flowers and manicured hedges. A tall statute stood proud out the front, marking the World Wars. Inside, old family tombs stood weathered, yet strong. Some dated back to the 1400’s; others were in more recent centuries and decades. Some were tall, almost like small buildings. Some had petite fences surrounding them. A lot had flowers, a few had photos.

In the end was quite similar to any other traditional cemetery that I had visited, albeit much, much older. It was an eerie experience, but at least I now know what it was like and don’t have to wonder.

Friday Markets

One of my most favourite experiences of everyday life in Limoux was the weekly markets on Fridays. I dedicated a blog entry to this weekly ritual, and enjoyed it one last time on our final day. As Marty finished up packing, I ducked down to the markets to pick up some fresh fruit and snacks for our journey ahead.

For the last time I took in the amazing sights of so much fresh food: olives, dried fruit, fresh fruit and vegetables, meat. The plants and herbs were in full bloom. The sellers were full of life and cheer. The French women were filling their market trolleys. I picked out my apples and bananas and left the markets behind for the last time.

Boulangerie

I couldn’t leave without saying ‘au revoir’ to our lovely little Boulangerie lady. She had been such a lovely personality throughout our time, bringing us so much joy and giving us stories to share. I decided that I would do this farewell properly; I looked up what I wanted to say in French, rehearsed, and off I went.

Walking in and straight up to the counter, I said (in my best/worst French): je reviens à la maison en Australie, which was met with confusion. As with most times when there was a language breakdown, actions came into play. I started waving my arms like a plane, and motioning from one side of my body to the other (in my mind this symbolised us flying from one side of the world to the other).

When this game of charades didn’t translate either (surprisingly), I reverted back to my French sentence, breaking it down. ‘Je revienne…Australie’ (I return…Australia) seemed to get through, and the moment it did I was embraced with a great big hug; something I hadn’t experienced from someone other than Marty in a long time! This was a lovely last moment to share and memory to have of our Boulangerie lady.

Grizzlies Supporters Club

On our last evening in Limoux, we were treated to a ‘reception’ hosted by the Limoux Grizzlies supporters club. Throughout the season the lovely French men and ladies of the supporters club would put on lunches for the team before games and often held functions for the team’s sponsors and supporters to attend. Being guests in their town, we were frequently invited to a soirée.

This was a lovely send off, held solely in our honour. A speech was made by the club president in French, translated to us by a French-speaking Aussie, and Marty responded, telling his teammates that he had made friends for life. This was met with a great cheer when translated for them, proving that Marty really had made an impact on these boys who had embraced him. This was a fitting way to see out the end of our seven months in Limoux.

So we packed up our little French cottage in a similar way to having packed our bags for France; I overstuffed and Marty culled. We spent our last moments in what became our home away from home in the French countryside and trundled out the door with our 50kgs of bags in toe. It was a bitter-sweet departure; we were sad to leave, but so excited for the adventure and homecoming that lay ahead.