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1. Nous sommes arrivés.



We arrived in Paris with 6 bags, 1 huge stroller, 2 bikes in boxes and a baby. Virtually incapable of moving, we struggled across Charles de Gaulle airport desperately trying to avoid any elevators and attracting the first of many glares from the locals for our significant lack of équilibre.

We were told in no uncertain terms that we wouldn't be getting in the train with this stuff, so we found one of those dodgy luggage shipping/storage shops and gave them some money to take some of our boxes. Fully expecting never to see them again, I considered it money well spent.

Slightly less encumbered, we boarded the train for Lyon, where we were going to spend the first couple of nights. Sam insisted on walking the entire length of the train, greeting each of the passengers in turn - which was, for the most part, appreciated. We then spent the first couple of nights in Lyon, pondering in a slightly bewildered state whether we'd actually, seriously moved to France.

A trip to the swimming pool was the usual French ordeal of security guards enforcing rules about not wearing shorts with the same intensity as an American border guard, and quasi-manatory hourly announcements for animations to which the French children must be subjected.

After wandering around aimlessly looking for shelter from the furnace-like heat, Sam lost his sense of humor and we stopped at a nearby playground. We were instantly accosted by a bolshy seven year old who insisted on, non-negotiably, using us as water pistol target practise. We grudgingly acquiesced, only to be joined by his intimidating 7 year old mates, who then demanded to look at Sam's toy mouse. Having succeeded, I then entered into a negotiation in stunted French with the leader of the 7 year old gang. After an embarrassingly long period of time, I re-aquired the mouse without the need for violence.

Dinner involved a search for a vegetarian restaurant, which was challenging but not impossible. We finally arrived at a place on top of a huge hill, where the calorific value of the food was signifiantly exceeded by the energy expenditure required to reach the top of the hill. I made up for the lost calories in Rosé and decadent ice cream.

And so, this morning we set off for Toulouse, comprehensively exceeding the 2 hour acceptable time limit for sharing a train ride with a toddler. But the tantalizing glimpses of the Alps, haute languedoc and Pyrenees provided a reasonable sanity check.

I went to the intimidating cargo terminal of the airport, which in the US would be the kind of place which would be patrolled by people with large intimidating guns. Faced with a bewildering number of warehouses, I walked into the least intimidating door and asked (this is a theme) in stilted French if they had my bike. To my utter astonishment, they said "Ah oui, l'homme avec les vélos, nous vous attendions!". I walked out with the bikes, bemused that the arrival of my bikes would be a topic of conversation at an airport...

We now sit outside our new home, for now empty aside from a bench and 2 chairs. There is a well, apricots in the garden and a small dog who seems to want to move in.

We realized French houses don't have fridges or washing machines. Rosie has rejected my idea of storing food in the well. So we'll sleep on our camping mats and tomorrow, we will hire a van...
Our house, the gardener's cottage

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