This last week has seen me reduced to tears.
Our trip down to Montpellier down in the South o’ France, along the Mediterranean coast turned out to be very uneventful last weekend, and I did not get to tick my ‘to-do’ list at all.
We took a train trip, setting off from the Strasbourg gloom, watched the clouds disappear as we sped past the Alps mountain range, noticed the country side changing, soil becoming more sandy, trees becoming more scrub like. We alighted at the Montpellier train station in lovely autumn sun, were collected by Al and his friendly Irish taxi driver, and driven to Al’s house in the Languedoc winelands.
Aside from a train trip, and sleeping in a house among the vineyards, and of course, buying Al’s car, Montpellier was not exciting. We shall have to return another time to boast eating lobster and paella on the Med.
The Strasbourg gloom had followed us down south, and our entire trip back was wet and miserable.
Needless to say, the gloom had not left the Rhineland’s, and Strasbourg was pretty darn ugly on Tuesday when I set off with Alex and Beth at 07h45 en route to the International School, Vauban Maternelle. The girls are still not used to eating breakfast before 8, and so half an hour later, sitting on a barely moving No. 4 bus, they had tucked in to their mid morning snack of crisp bread and Emmenthal cheese.
We arrived at school on time, but I had to wait for 20 minutes before I could meet the school ‘directrice’, AKA ‘headmistress’, after which she shepherded the girls to their class. I was given about 10 pieces of paper all in French, with lists of stationery needs, meeting requests, school times and basic requests.
And then the realisation sank in, that I would need to collect Missy and Monster at 12h00 for lunch. And Alex would have to be returned at 14h00, and collected at 16h30 at the end of the day.
I had deliberately not contemplated this major issue. If I had, I would truly not have got out of bed.
It’s going to be easier to bullet this for you to get an idea of my time issues:
• Having gone away for the weekend, I had not had a chance to plan and make lunch, so when we set off for school; they went with their mid-morning snack only.
•As a result, after dropping the girls, I returned to Eckbolsheim to make lunch at home.
• Our home is 12km’s from school.
• Waiting for a bus and a tram, the trip takes about 45 minutes, bearing in mind I can only catch the bus at certain times, so the trip has to be planned with that in mind.
• As a result, when I did return with lunch we had to picnic lunch on a bench in town.
• For about 90 minutes.
• And on Tuesday, it rained, and the temperature was about 10°C.
As you can imagine, it was the longest 90 minutes I have had to endure in a long time. Picture this scene:
•13h50: drop Alex off for afternoon classes.
• 14h45: arrive home with Beth for a cup of tea and a cookie.
• 15h15: Set off back to catch the bus to return to school.
•15h35: Beth falls asleep in my arms on the bus, and I come close to leaving her beloved Be-Bi on the bus when I nearly miss my stop.
• 16h00: Still very fast asleep Beth in my arms when we alight from our tram, half an hour early for Alex.
• 16h35: Still carrying Beth, I have Alex and we are dodging the rain drops while running for the tram
• 17h10: The bus change-over. The rain drops are at bay, for the time being.
• 17h25: Our bus at last, 15 minutes later, by which time the queue for commuters seeking shelter is long and aggressive. Don’t you just LOVE this? But, I am in there, jostling for my space, carrying Beth who now needs the toilet. Thank You to the man who gives up his seat for Alex and Beth, while he stands being jostled around as well.
• 18h00: We are off the bus, and it’s the last dash home. Thank you Anton for letting me stop at a sports shop the day we returned from Montpellier to buy rain coats.
•18h45: Anton is home, waiting for me to magic dinner out of a frozen pack of mince. Gaenor cries.
Why, oh why, was it so important to have the girls in the International School? Was this decision the wrong one? Why was I putting myself and the girls through all this commuting? How come everybody in Strasbourg that we had encountered had said that the girls needed the International School?
I was exhausted, and although I am really not known to be Ms Domestic, the level of filth in my little house was used an excuse that we couldn’t continue doing this to ourselves. After all, when was I going to find the time for washing and cleaning?
Wednesday dawned, and as it’s a mini weekend for school children, we had scheduled to look for apartments with our relocation expert, and later in the day, Ortho (Anton’s employer) were hosting us for Family Day in the afternoon, where we were to be shown around the offices, and treated to ‘gouter’, or afternoon snack as we know it.
With Anton not having to rush off to work, we were able to sit down and discuss our situation.
We have decided that until school holidays on the 18th October, Anton will drive to work, and drop the girls off in the morning. (I am not yet confident enough to drive on the ‘wrong side of the road’.) This arrangement has freed up my mornings to do a few things, and I am able to commute through for lunch later.
As Anton enjoys being able to cycle to work, this arrangement will only be until we move, and as we have signed a rental offer of an apartment in the city, he is able to count down the days until he is back on his bike.
We have our eye on a 100sq meter apartment on the ground floor of an old apartment block in the old part of Strasbourg. In terms of city apartments, it’s big, happily the rent is within our budget, and although it lacks a balcony, or anywhere I could even grow some herbs, it has a romanticism that makes it special, and it is close enough to commute to school, and the highways and canal routes with ease. We might being to miss being able to ‘braai’, and although I will attempt herbs in window boxes, my Mom reminds me that I am a lousy pot-plant person, so I may as well laugh it off as a joke. Besides, with the ‘Place Broglie’ market every Wednesday and Friday, who needs to grow your own herbs? We are hoping to have the rental contract signed before the week is over.
With the apartment search ticked off, safe in the knowledge that I would not have to deal with the monster haul in and out twice a day, I received a phone call from a friend we have made who has children in the same school as Alex and Beth. They live within walking distance, and have very kindly offered us their home to crash in should the weather be foul and inclement. Co-incidentally, he is from Durban many years ago, and she is a fully local girl, born and bred in the Strasbourg suburbs, and met him while they were studying in Holland 2 decades ago. She is fabulous, and I really hope that she can be my French mentor.
Thursday and Friday, sunnier weather regardless, Alex, Beth and I walked off to have lunch with the H’s, and as you can imagine, I had a sunnier disposition. This was made even more bright later on Friday, en route home, when we happened to come a lady from Pretoria! Can you believe it? She met and married her French husband in South Africa a few years ago, and he got homesick, so they returned to his home town Strasbourg, where they are raising their son who is in Alex’s class.
So despite the rocky start to the new school, it has become better. I have come to peace with our decisions, and will move forward with a positive outlook. There will be pro’s and con’s to various aspects of who we are here. Pretty much the same if we were in South Africa, don’t you think?
As a foot note, with all the walking I have been doing, comfortable shoes are always at my front door, and with children’s belongings requiring storing, my brightly coloured “Lou Harvey” bag has been at my arm filled with sticky juice bottles, and sand-pit bucket and spades. Last Friday, without needing to walk to and from home 3 times, nor having to worry about lunch for a day, I was able to strut out in my fabulous Tsonga boots, black leather handbag and vivid green Namibian wrap. I wondered up and down the aisles of the fresh produce market, marveling at the concept of feeling like a local. I can’t wait to do it again.
Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals 