Bienvenus à la France!

i havent felt as giddy as i did the moment the plane left english soil in a loooong time. sure, i was on the cheapest flight available [meaning ZERO leg room and $5 waters], but it didnt matter. all that mattered was i was leaving england with its horrible people and weather.

i was so nervous about immigration.

when i went from dublin to england, there were these huge lines of people, hardly any of them spoke english, big men with bigger guns, drug sniffing dogs[!], and a bevy of immigration officials who hate their job. but the airport in bergerac [im not even sure you can call it an airport its so small], had none of that.

i stepped off the plane onto the [sunny and warm!] runway, followed the other passengers into what looked like a barn and waited in line. seriously, this room was about 20'x20' had black garbage bags for insulation, a slide from a window for the luggage pick up, and one immigration guy. there was NO security, NO police, NO cameras, and people waiting for passengers could walk in and wait in line with them. ive never seen a smaller airport or such a lack of security, even pre-9/11. but there was still the task of getting a visa. i obviously couldnt say i was coming to work, so i made up bullshit story about meeting a friend in marseille, then travelling through france. i said all this very quickly, very valley girl, and the immigration dude gave me a funny look and stamped my passport. i found out later that he doesnt speak english.

my gite and the surrounding 800 year old cemetary

the inside of my gite [its an old church]

the view from the patio, over looking the empty[for the moment] pool

pietier was waiting to pick me up. shoulder length hair, hip square glasses, he looked the type to run a motorcycle campsite. on the way to camp moto, he took me the backroads so i could see all the chateaus in the region. the land is absolutely breathtaking. we soon got to the site, and i met reinske, his wife. her english isnt that good, but everything she says is hilarious and filled with enthusiasm.

reinske, pietier, and the bar

lets see- im gona try an cliffsnotes this because im getting tired and so much has happened in the past few days it would take forever to type.

rocamadour

i went to rocamadour and saw the black mary. rocamadour is an old hermitage built into the side of a mountain, and the black mary is this really really old statue from 300AD. i learned how to roll cigarettes[not very well though], how to play darts with igor, their friend from holland[unlike rolling cigarettes, i am very good at darts], got into a bilingual argument with and old man[him speaking french, me speaking english, neither of us understanding the other] over who was next for the bathroom, and got really, really drunk. for free. a couple of times.

ITS OVER!! FOR FUCKS SAKE ITS OVER!!!

England sucks
Its official
Bits and pieces of it are nice, but theyre like diamonds in a turd. Your excited to find em but youre still surrounded by shit.

When I got here, I would go out to the garage nearly every night and cry and cry and cry.
I didn’t know why then, but now I realize it was because something about this place reached into my very being and wrenched out every little bit of sunshine I smuggled in from California.

Bexhill nearly killed me. Granted, I did meet G while I was staying there. I guess you have to take the sweet with the sour.

The last three weeks while I was staying in Worcester [like the sauce], I slept in until about 2pm everyday.
Some people might call me lazy, but I call it relaxation. I was having a proper, peaceful vacation. When you remember that everyday for the past 7 months ive been getting up at 6 am to tend to little devil spawns, and for the next 4 months im going to be working at a campsite, those three weeks are well earned.
Im really looking forward to france.

At the moment im on the train to stansted international airport. Im not nervous about the flight, or the people im going to be working with or for, but im terrified of what im going to say to immigration when they ask why im going to france and how long I intent to stay there.
You see, the problem is, when I landed in England from Dublin, nobody at immigration looked at my ticket, let alone my passport, so I never got a visa stamp. Incidentally, it would appear on the pages of my passport that ive been in Ireland for the past 7 months. I sincerely hope nobody checks this, otherwise im probably on my way home. It wouldn’t be so bad. I know of a few people who would be over the moon at news of my return.
Im determined to get to france.
If I don’t get to france, the chances of me getting to Amsterdam before I leave are slim to none- and I aint settling for that shit.