Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals

I’ve spent 18 months encouraging myself to not miss home.

I’ve waxed lyrically about the perks of my European town.

Cycle paths.

Free schooling.

Efficient Effective state medical.

A most amazing group of fabulous international and local friends.

That I can be a SAHM.  Guilt free.

Internet connectivity. Cheap internet connectivity.

Public transport.

German beer.

The stark seasonal differences- autumnal colours and falling leaves; grey winter clouds and Christmas lights; real snow; daffodils and magnolia flowers; long summer days.

The French language-truly!

That I can shop for fresh produce almost daily at a market- you get the drift?

I do this so that I don’t get homesick. Plain and simple.

Last night I had a meeting at school in the early evening. I donned a hat, warm jacket and leather gloves and hopped on my bike. The chill of the late autumn air rushed over my cheeks and whistled through my dangling earrings. Mingling in the traffic smells I captured the fragrance of Christmas- chestnuts roasting- not so much on an open fire, but more in those cavernous engines that can be found on the tourist street corners.

Christmas.

The lights are mostly all strung. The trees were pollarded a while back and are now so naked that the lights will be magnificent and inspiring. The shops are full of raisins, candied peel and spices for Bredele and other Christmas baking.

Vin chaud can be picked up at the tourist destinations.

There’s a gentle buzz in the atmosphere.

And yet, despite all this warm and fuzziness, I find I am inextricably drawn to thoughts of the golden dawn sun lighting up my face with my homeland lying before my eyes. The vision is everywhere- a random French advert, in the lyrics of my current favourite songs by Die Heuwels Fantasties, the golden leaves of the trees in Place de la Republique. I can hear Hadedas and Fish Eagles.  Cows mooing.  It’s so close.

It’s so close that I can smell it. I can smell that dusty construction dust of the mining Highveld. I can smell the rich muddy soil of my Dad’s brothers’ farm. I can smell that braai-vleis so much that I have tears in my eyes.

Or do I have tears in my eyes because I can feel the touch of my Mothers hug, of my dearest friends’ hugs?

So very soon, I won’t have Christmas lights, Bredele, Vin Chaud, public transport and  snow.

But I don’t care.

I will have YOU.