Chocolate Ice-Cream and Rice Milk at 4.30am
Thanks, Jet-lag.
Foreign Correspondence
Good news for friends and fans of The French Letter:
Even though I may be leaving France, this blog lives on - I still have far too many tales to tell!
Keep an eye on yer letterboxes for your next French Letter.
A Fond Farewell
And so, six months after it started, ma belle vie française has sadly come to an end.
For my final day here, France seemed to pull out all the stops to wish me a fond farewell.
The sun shone bright over our teary goodbye at La Rochelle train station; alcoholics on the train wished me a good evening; a homeless man woke up from a drunken stupor to give me a little wave and blow kisses; the woman at the check-in desk ignored my 10 kilograms of excess baggage, and there have been two bomb-scares complete with very dashing soldiers in tight uniforms during my wait at Charles de Gaulle airport.
France, you’ve outdone yourself. Love you long-time, sugar.
xx
Hard Fa(c)ts of Life
Some have asked me, “Molly, all that bread and cheese, has it made you fat?”
To them I say:
I have lived in France surrounded by delicious pastries, cheeses, breads, tarts, chocolates and wines for the last six months.
I can demolish a baguette for lunch and a round of fine camembert in a day.
Over three weeks in Spain and Italy we limited ourselves (and adhered to) a diet of an ice-cream a day.
So yes, to them I say, France has made me a wee bit fat.
But boy, did it taste delicious.
All of it.
Packing: A recipe for disaster.
3 days left in France.
2 suitcases.
23 kilograms of luggage allowance.
6 months of stuff.
Packing not a dream.
Carlo: “Molly, you need to remember that you are a hoarder.”
Molly: “I don’t hoard anymore.”
Carlo: “I bet you have a ton of souvenirs.”
Molly: “Ok.
So I have a lot of souvenirs. But they’re cool ones. Like a Virgin Mary of Fatima that CHANGES COLOUR according to the weather.
It’s not hoarding if the stuff you’re keeping is cool.”Carlo: “...it’s still hoarding, bro.”
It’s going to be a long night…
How hot is 40 degrees celsius? Way too effin’ hot.
Molly melts in Lisbon, Portugal
Too efficient for words
Copenhagen:
Newspaper delivered at 3.30am. Even on a Sunday.
Sun rises at 4.30 am.
Shamefully went to bed at 5 am.
And what flavour is that?”
“Wood fruits.”
“What?”
“Wood fruits, you know?! Like wood fruits!”
“Errr… No.”
“How can you NOT know what wood fruits are?! Like berries and stuff.”
“Ohhh… fruits of the forest?”
“We don’t say wood fruits in English, do we?”
“No.
- Molly’s ability to speak English is brought into question when she tries to explain ice-cream flavours to Ella.
I came to France to improve my French. Not sure how well that’s worked out, but am certain that my English is very strange now…
Yes, yes she was.
Photo: Annemari De Silva
Model: Parisien broski.
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