It’s been one week since I arrived in the southeast of France, and I don’t want to leave. I feel more than ever that this is my home, and I keep the idea of packing up again far from my mind. There are so many things that are the same between Australia and France when it comes to nature, especially in certain departments of the Provence-Alpes-Cote d’Azur region. Sometimes it’s almost like I’ve never left home.
From the soil to the trees, and the little post boxes… I am reminded of the place where I was born. There is also the golden wattle, called the mimosa here, which blooms at the start of spring. Even the weather during this season is familiar for me… when there is that freshness in the air. Like waking up from a long, refreshing sleep. The sun is warm, and the air is cold. It’s the perfect combination, in between seasons. I’m enjoying the ability to breathe freely before the heat starts to oppress my lungs and bite my skin.
Last year, I travelled to a neighbouring department by the Alpes-Maritimes and I was completely surprised. It’s a slice of Australia in France in an area called the Var, and I am completely in love with it. There, the soil is red and the tree bark is white. Sometimes you can smell eucalyptus in the air. It has the same feeling of wilderness that I experienced in my childhood.
When I was very young, my Dad built our house in the countryside of Australia. While he and my brothers were working hard, digging up the soil and laying the bricks, I was sitting with my toys on a blanket resting upon the fine yellow sand. Complete blissful ignorance.
As I grew up, I tried to explore every corner of those five acres of bushland. I loved smelling the smoke from controlled burns just before summer and feeling the dry dust of limestone being picked up by the wind and swept across my skin. I remember very well the moments during the middle of the day… it would be hot and still with only the sound of crickets filling my ears. During my free time I’d get on my bicycle and ride around in the stinging heat, looking out for flowers, birds and other things that took my interest.
It’s how I used to have my “adventures” when I was younger. I’d go out with my little notebook and pen and draw pictures of what I saw, as if I was some kind of world traveller. It’s probably why I ended up getting freckles on my face… something that it took me a while to be proud of. I’ve come to realise that it’s the mark which says to others: don’t try to hold me down, I’m a free woman. And I’m a little bit wild.
It’s strange to consider that I could have had a very similar upbringing on a completely different side of the world. Sometimes travelling is like a mirror, if you aren’t afraid to look you can see your resemblance in the most unlikely of places.
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