Weight and the French Girl Paradox

Going into January I had honestly thought that I had put on weight in France. Yes, not something I would normally blog about- the idea that a kilo or two actually matters in the whole scheme of things is ridiculous. But it highlights one of the totally crazy things  that has happened since my arrival in France. Namely, the French Girl Paradox.

Comments

Tiny wee post letting you know I  fixed the comment issue- people can comment now even if they don't have wordpress or gmail accounts.

To make the post more fun-

I bought a print from the artist who's work you can see here.
France appropriate shirt.
Jealousy never gets old.
Trying to make my nails do this for the last week.
This is perfect.
I will go here.

Chateaux and France and Patrick

Here we are: Post-England, back in Tours. End of November.

I am not sure how I feel about this

I felt it tonight. That feeling you get when the plane touches down, the train pulls into the station, your car turns onto your street. You see the lights of your city, the taxi creeps closer and cuts over the hill to the bridge. Driving into Hobart in a taxi is something I have experienced so often as the daughter of travellers. I have been away for weeks (never this long) but have always felt that pull when you see it. Felt the bubbles rise in my stomach. These bright lights sneaking under your tired eyelids and bringing you back from your voyages.

I felt it tonight. I saw the chain link fences that run by St Pierre des Corps train station, lit up in the dark as the train sped by. I saw the old trains lined in the concrete yards out there, eerie in their loneliness. The other people began to stand and collect their luggage, call their families and say they were close. The bright lights of the Carrefour and the rise over the hill before the speeding down into my city. Because it is my city.

And I thought "home".