The man of the house has gone - temporarily. Work has taken him abroad, not for the first time, but for longer than usual. Such is life, but there's an extra dimension this time. Normally he flies, and to destinations with no particular meaning, certainly no memories for those of us left behind. This time he's chosen to drive because he has three destinations: Lyon, Berlin and Freiburg (Bavaria).
Yesterday he set off on the hallowed route for Dover, a journey we have made many times. Last night he crossed over to Calais on 'our' ferry, spent the night in 'our' hotel on the plage. And today - and this is where it becomes hard - he will drive to Lyon where he'll be based until the weekend. Lyon is a beautiful city, a Unesco World Heritage Site, built on two large hills and a large plain, with two rivers and noteworthy architecture. There's something about the light there that tugs at me, especially on a misty, late autumn day. When we returned from our three years in France, two years ago, part of me remained in Lyon.
On Saturday P. will drive to Germany, staying overnight - in my view, an additional and unnecessary affront: with effort he could have found some ugly industrial town - in Heidelberg, a delightful German city with a university dating from the 14th century. On our return from Italy several weeks ago, we spent the night in Heidelberg, where I was persuaded by my travel-hungry son to rise at 7 am (he suggested 5 am) to go sightseeing, before we left to drive to Calais. Two hours was long enough for us to wish we'd had the weekend at our disposal. There's always a poignant ambience about an old European city edging inexorably into autumn.
P. phoned last night and emailed this morning to say that it was all very empty without us. The nice side of me could have pointed out the positives of travelling tout seule: no-one to slow things down timewise by tardy packing and other delays, unlimited uncensored cartons of coffee en route, no arguments with our son about what constitutes healthy eating when selecting food at services off the péages. I withheld this offering. P. will be working extremely hard while he's away but it's hard not to be envious. We would work hard, too, we say, if we could come along.
Our first day apart, however, turned out to be unexpectedly pleasant. My son and I took the train out to the seaside town of North Berwick in East Lothian. North Berwick has a microclimate, often sunny when places around it are overcast. When I think of the town, it's of the beautiful late afternoon light and outstanding sunsets. We had a lovely walk along the West Beach, munching Minstrels, discussing discursive essays for school, followed by a go at putting. It was sunny, the sea a brilliant blue, the islands, as always, providing a picturesque backdrop.
And today we've awoken to a delightful autumnal morning.
I've a horrible feeling I've become like Dudley Dursley in Harry Potter, scanning his birthday present pile and whining: 'There's only 36, last year I had 37'.
Yes, on the travel front, I am definitely spoilt, grappling with a restless energy hard to conceal. The novels I write are always based in other countries, allowing me to escape in my head. And it's probably no coincidence that my film preferences are for those located 'in foreign parts'. I will grab any opportunity for armchair travelling as well as the real thing.
Petulantly yours
Jane
P.S. Needless to say, we miss P. for more than just his travelling opportunities...
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