La tranquillité de la campagne

Four days in the country. Nice and quiet, don’t need to talk to anyone. Walk through the garden, see how everything grows. Hours stretching out before you. Or at least, that is what I thought when leaving Limonest. Somehow life in the countryside is a lot busier than one thinks. In my enthusiasm I had taken my language courses Arabic and Italian with me. After all, in four days there is plenty of time to work on those. However, as things turned out, not really.

All right, I did sleep a lot. And spent quite some time cooking and baking. I like doing that and the oven here is terrific so I figured I’d take the opportunity and try out some new stuff. In addition however there are always things to do. Like taking pictures of everything that grows here. The parents like being informed about how their fruit trees, berry bushes and other new plants with names I have long since forgotten do. Now prune, apple and pear trees are fairly easy to spot. They are about as tall as I am, I know where they are, can’t really miss them. However, at some time when I was not here, the parents have also planted rather obscure little things here and there. Somewhere around the edges of the garden where the grass grows tall. All right, the grass grows tall everywhere now due to a broken lawn mower but even with a mower in working order I think finding these twigs would have been a serious challenge. “They have been marked with silver foil papers”, I was informed over the phone. Please check on them, there’s five. So there I was, walking through our garden like a boy scout with a camera, looking for tiny twigs with silver foil on them. If you have never been a scout that is not easy. Eventually I found three out of five, all doing very well indeed.

Apart from checking the growth of new plants and trees and taking pictures of them considerable time is spend paying social visits to the neighbours. A little way up the road is the farm of an elderly French couple who thought it very nice of me to come and pay them a visit. As they keep an eye on the house whenever no one is here they had already spotted me arriving, although when you are driving around in a car as green as an apple, literally, I doubt it is hard not to see. Although I went for half an hour, I think I ended up chatting to François and Odette for an hour and a half.

Tuesday was delivery day. Tiles previously ordered at Gédimat were being delivered on a pallet. The delivery people do not put them inside and so I saw myself forced to carry them in box after box. Muscle ache in my arms and back being the result of this carrying tiles. Later during the afternoon I went to see acquaintances of my parents who run a campsite nearby close to a village called St. Bonnet de Vieille Vigne. It’s an odd 10-12 kilometres away. Having first considered going to see them on Wednesday, my leaving day, I was glad I didn’t. When going to see them it is wise to take some time for that as they love chatting. Their daughter was there as well and is quite interested in doing the same job as me next summer. She now works on camp sites and in hotels but compared to that, this is luxury with two compulsory days off per week, at least eleven hours between each shift and paid overtime.

All in all my four quiet days in the countryside became rather filled up days. Very nicely filled days though and when being away from work and home even, very quickly it feels like you have been away for a very long time. A phone call from a colleague therefore becomes a reminder that it is only a few days and that after a long weekend, it is time to go home and back to work.

Sanctuary

Everyone should have one. You know, a place to go and spend some time alone or if you must with people you will never tire off. Mine has become my parents’ fermette in the French countryside. After working and spending the weekend with colleagues as well, I think it was a very good idea to come here. All right, I am on my own here, no one to talk to, to laugh with but no one to get on my nerves either. It is not that I want to spend my time complaining, but whenever I spend a lot of time with my compatriots I feel different.

Compared to other seasonal employees and interns, I am by far the eldest. Difference with them varies from two to nine years. Especially the latter is a huge difference and it feels that way too. I felt that way when starting university a couple of years ago when I was surrounded by people just leaving home and now I feel the same. For a couple it is apparently not easy living on their own in the sense that everything seems to have been easy for them. Never met any real obstructions in their life and now that they have to take care of things themselves they spend a lot of time complaining. About everything. They also spend a lot of time ventilating a rather strong opinion. Also about everything. To say I am uncomfortable with that is an understatement.

Then there is a few that is even younger not by age but by behaviour. Still stuck in puberty and thinking they know everything whereas they do not have a clue. One of them thinks she might be pregnant at 17. This does not prevent her from obviously flirting with one of the interns, desperation dripping off. I have decided it best not to say much about it because I find it so wrong I can hardly watch it. A number of the female interns turn out to spend a lot of their time gossiping about others which is hardly surprising with a disproportionate number of women together. One of my colleagues kindly directed me to one of them if I wanted to find out what is being said about me. I told her I am not in the least bit interested in hearing what people that do not know me at all think about me, whilst internally laughing at the relative naivety of sharing this information with me.

Luckily there are not only girls and once again I have to conclude that I get along much better with men. If they don’t like you, they just don’t talk to you or say it out loud. No gossiping behind your back as soon as you’re out of ear-shot, no female envy, no big opinions about your behaviour and/or looks. They tease you though, but I can put up with that. And some like talking about themselves. A lot. Still, annoying as that can be, I prefer it to having the creepy feeling that whatever I do or say is disapproved of and that I am merely tolerated rather than liked.

Constantly feeling different and watched does get on ones nerves though and after spending twelve days with the same people it is time to spend some time alone. Not having to behave, not having to be friendly and flexible, not having to ignore minor nuisances. Whenever you feel like that, there should be a sanctuary. A far-away or a close-by place to go to. To be safe at. To be alone at.

First impressions

Coming Friday it will be three weeks already. Three weeks since I arrived here. Three weeks in my new home and in my new job. Although I have to admit that I have not yet done much work in those three weeks. Everyone is started off by three weeks of training during which you see a lot of insurance policies, learn to work with the computer systems and take a look underneath the hood of a car. Very interesting stuff. With three weeks almost over though I have to say I do want to start the real thing. Familiarity you only get by doing the same thing again and again and again. Most insurance policies you will have to check anyway and I learnt how to look things up and then to use the relevant information a while ago. Still, I am not the only one.

As it happens, the other three people doing the training with me are pretty much fresh out of secondary school and sometimes seem to find it rather challenging to listen all day long to someone explaining things and to deal with a lot of information. Then again, these are not the only tasks they find challenging. Being relatively far away from everything is difficult, having to take the bus to work every day is annoying and not having internet access for a day which prevents them from chatting to their friends is a life-threatening situation. Apart from the bus-issue which is a problem of course, I find it rather challenging to work up some understanding every day. I don’t know if it is me, but I just want to put them in the ‘spoiled brats’ file and tell them to go and try living in Bradford. Try sharing a flat or worse, a room, with other people for seven years. One of them was surprised to find out today that this is the first time in my life that I have my own kitchen block and bathroom. I am surprised they don’t have a clue. The guy seems to think my mum’s Little Green Micra runs on horse manure, one of the girls that having to walk to everything for at least 20 minutes is a big deal.

In the meantime I try and remain friendly. When appropriate I give a hint, although writing a book “Halls for Dummies” might be a better idea. For people like this, such an insight in house sharing might be an eye-opening affair and consequently an excellent gift for when they leave the nest. No the fridge does not fill itself, yes going shopping takes a lot of time, yes you are completely dependent on public transport and your own feet and no there is not internet everywhere. And that is only the start of it. About half-way through the book people should find out that walking to the supermarket is a laugh compared to challenges ranging from filth in various categories to deranged flatmates, also in various categories. Where a book is concerned though, it is particularly the filth and the deranged flatmates that result in interesting, moving, funny and disgusting stories. Especially where the latter is concerned, it is pretty much a never ending story as I found out virtually upon arrival.

Despite the enormous fun one has with these stories on birthday parties and the like, this does not want me to spend more years in flatshare though. Quite the contrary. It is unknown luxury to be able to enjoy having your very own kitchen and bathroom. I can leave the door unlocked when showering, I can put nice desserts in the fridge without them getting stolen and I can put my stuff everywhere without feeling guilty for taking up a lot of space. I do not care about having only two electric plates. They’re mine and that is all that counts. The dirty dishes in the sink are mine too as are the three towels in the bathroom. I like it all so much that I’m a little worried I’ll get used to it. That I will forget what it was like to share and that wherever I go next that is exactly what I will have to do. Again. And yet, I am here now and I am here for the next four months at least. Better enjoy it while it lasts. I should know by now that four months flies by and that before you know it, you’re back in the cold and the rain.

Two down, two more to go

Two down, two more to go. Two what though, that's the question. Two weeks. Two weeks have passed in which I packed my things, bought more china I didn't need, did my shopping and started saying goodbye to people. After five months at home, the time has finally come to leave again. Once more to France, only this time, not to Paris. This time round, I will get to know Lyon a little bit.

As usual I'm taking far more things then I will probably need. However, having your very own kitchenette ought to be celebrated. As does having your own bathroom. No other hairs in the drain than my own. It's still disgusting, but not nearly as disgusting as someone else's. For the first time since leaving the nest, I can put chocolate in my fridge. And it'll stay there. As do the nice desserts.

Despite having lived toward these final two days at home for weeks now, suddenly I start to get a little scared. Worried that it will not be great. I don't even dare to hope for a good time. For nice colleagues and hopefully new friends. Theoretically I'll find those. As it is seasonal work helping holiday-makers if they get into trouble in the sense of problems with their cars and caravans, there will be more people like me there. Hired for a few months. New in town. Usually that makes people stick together as no one knows anyone.

It will be summer so the weather will hopefully do its bit for a good time. Otherwise the shops will. Once in a while, one should make an effort to live in France. Not least to expand the contents of one's wardrobe according to the latest fashion. And there is a home in the countryside to go to, especially during hot days. To do nothing but relax, tan, pick cherries and maybe do some baking.

So what can go wrong you wonder? Not much, I agree. Then what is there to be scared off? Coming to think of it, I don't know. Perhaps I'm scared to be lonely there. That I will not be arriving together with other new people but have to start alone among employees that have been there forever. Perhaps it won't be so easy making new friends then. Yet, I have never lived somewhere and not had any friend at all. So statistically, we should assume that things look rather well and that there is no real need to worry and only need to enjoy.

To take or to leave, that's the question

Suddenly you wake up. What started as an ordinary visit to an old friend suddenly might be more than that. Suddenly you become aware of how he makes you feel. Safe. Secure. You can trust him with your life. He will never go away. You wonder what it all means. That perhaps you have overlooked a good deal for years? Or that you have become desperate and that security and familiarity is all you want. Because it's safe. It's quiet.

A dilemma needs to be faced: whether or not to settle down for good, for safe and for quiet, or whether not to keep looking. For great, for excitement and for life. I think I have chosen the latter. O it is certainly good to have a quiet life. But I do not think that I want to fall in love with how someone makes me feel. I'd much rather fall in love with the person himself.

As I thought things over and imagined what it would be like, there were issues. Big issues. Like seeing up a little to seeing him. That's not good. Like probably never feeling proud of him. Impressed. Or having the will to make an effort, let alone being prepared to do anything for him. Never. After all, it would be a quiet life.

Not that I would have to do anything. No, there wouldn't be any need for that. He would happily pull the cart by himself. Alone. Whilst I continue living my life as I have always done. Taking up a job in Cairo. He'll come with. Should he have second thoughts, I'll threaten him: 'take it or leave it', without ever really worrying he'll leave it. Of course I would be upset if it'd ever end. No doubt about that. I will cry when he leaves. But also have the certainty to get over it. There would not be devastation afterwards.

What worries me most though is that one day I have to wake him up. One day I have to tell. One day I have to go. Smash the dream, say that I hoped it would work, that I have done my best but that I want my freedom back. The worst of this being that I know it now. That we'll make it for a year, maybe two. Maybe even longer, who knows. But I think I will always worry. Worry that I am found out. That I went for the safety, the security, the familiarity, but not for him. That I will just fall in love with someone else. Really fall in love without rationally choosing to if you even can. Then what? Then I leave for great? Or do I stay out of loyalty?

I don't think I want to answer any of these questions much less see a dream turn into a nightmare. I do not want to think about a boyfriend in terms of 'having to deal with him for a weekend.' But I would. And suddenly you wake up. This is not what I want. It is not what I am looking for. I may not be someone who likes conquering a guy, but I do not need one that would give it all to me on a silver plate either. I do not want to have to fight for my feelings. I choose not to choose but to let events take their course instead.