A month home, almost, already, and I feel like my feet have hardly touched the ground.

A hundred coffees and hugs and reunitings, a massive Christmas, moving into a new home, new years eve and now 2012 is here.

Bam.

I’m not sure I’m ready / I’m not sure if I should post this, but why not be real and raw? It’s been really tough to settle. I haven’t yet.

I’m so happy / I’m so sad / I’m feeling / I’m unfeeling.
I question why I came back / I know I had reached my ending there.
Here is home / but so was there / and so I’m just floating.
Waves of homesickness for France clash against waves of joy for the things, people, familiarity of here.
This / There / The inbetween.

The memories sparkle and fizz, so very real and vivid. I can close my eyes and be right back there, in those moments, all at once.

Picnicking on the steps of the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur overlooking twilight Paris / walking the Cinque Terre trails / finding platform nine and three quarters at Kings Cross Station / gazing hopefully out to the Loch Ness waters in the Scottish highlands / walking the Charles Bridge in Prague at sunset / dipping ten toes in the glorious waters of La Côte d’Azur / savouring apple pie and runny custard on the cobbled streets of Stockholm’s Gamla Stan / getting lost in the canaled streets of Amsterdam / crying at the beauty of Julia Stone’s enchanting voice during an intimate concert amongst the ancient theatre ruins in Arles / riding the world’s steepest cogwheel train up the side of a 4000 foot mountain face in Lucerne / contemplating Stonehenge / scalding my fingertips on roasted chestnuts and mulled wine at the Christmas markets / champagning at the lofty tip of La Tour Eiffel /seeing, really seeing, the brutal beauty of Anne Frank’s words and experience in Amsterdam / tasting home-pressed wine in the back of an Italian’s shed on the coast / dancing in the back streets at the Fete de la Musique / soaking up the Joie de Vivre with wine, cheese and balmy friday nights at Les Estivales / biking to the beach / strolling through Hyde Park / lining up with thousands at the final Harry Potter premiere in Trafalgar Square / Portobello markets and Hummingbird cupcakes on a saturday morning / watching the changing of the guards / skipping heartbeats over the pink salmon Florentine sunset / eating fresh pasta in Rome / wine tasting on the rolling hills of Tuscany / sharing a gondola ride in Venice / ohhhing and ahhhing over Chagall’s colourful and dreamy works in Nice / knowing the Paris metro without map / meeting beautiful strangers / a million more untold adventures / That clear, pure, blissful, present, embodiment of complete, unbridled freedom.

On my final beautiful day in Montpellier, I sat in the oldest botanical garden (in all of France) and wrote down my wishes, and tucked my paper and peace dove inside the wishing tree.

As they say, every ending gives way to a new beginning. I hope, crave, need for my next adventure to be a beautiful, inspired, unwalked, sunshine-dappled, closer one.

With thanks from the bottom of my heart for for reading, commenting, flying with me these past months.

For a little while, this petite bowerbird bids you love, adventure, and au revoir

xx.

Favourite places so far:
1. Place de la Comedie (main city centre square and Opera)
2. Promenade du Peyrou
3. Porte du Peyrou (for picnics/study in the afternoon sunshine)
4. School: Accent Français (pretty sweet building, huh?)
5. Narrow streets and cafe terraces
6. Favourite alleyways (in love with the ribbons/coloured flags everywhere… makes me happy)
7. Local florist (where I treat myself to a flower for my room each week) and boulangerie patisserie (more of a daily treat)

It’s been exactly one week since I arrived in Montpellier, and what a crazy overwhelming exciting emotional seven days it has been.

I sit here at my cute little desk feeling safe and content, relieved i’ve finally found my home away from home, and excited about the weeks and months before me. After a disastrous first host family experience, I moved to Rue Saint Barthélémy, only one street away but another world apart in terms of happiness and things feeling ‘right’. I am now living with an artist Karen, her lighting director partner Jean-Marc and their 16 year old daughter Rose. It’s a dynamic family home, where students will drift in and stay a short while or long term (like me) and I love it. It’s fresh. I have tackled and survived my first week of french lessons… no small feat considering all classes are taught entirely in French. I can now count and pronounce the alphabet (like any 2 year old enfant), I can introduce myself and talk a little about what I like and don’t like…. and that’s about where it ends! Long way to go, but i’m on the way.

Below i’ll give you the tour of home and my room (favourite bits = photo board, CIBO pen pot and my own tiny balcony). Next post I will introduce you to my new city and local haunts… but for now, bon soirée xx

So it’s already been 3 weeks since I hopped off that long-awaited long haul flight home from snowy London and could finally wrap myself safely in the arms of my loved ones.

I didn’t make it home in time for Christmas, but I did make it home in time to smell the still-fresh pine Christmas tree, wrap a suitcase full of presents collected around the world while playing Neil Diamond’s Christmas Carols CD on loop (well, it’s tradition) and enjoy a special edition ‘Christmas Day’ brunch with my family.

Home has never been such a comfort, and I have to say… I have never felt so much nostalgia, affection or respect towards my home city Adelaide. Each morning, I still wake feeling grateful to be in my own bed, and lie there for few moments longer than usual, just to hear the familiar early-morning sounds of our family household play out: Dad making breakfast upstairs, Sunrise news on telly, the birdies singing at sunrise (I can’t believe I have never noticed this before – they are LOUD). Walking barefoot without freezing toes is definitely still a novelty. Maybe it’s because i’ve had enough time and distance from these everyday routines and things to take for granted, that even the most familiar sensory experiences have adopted a touch of mystery and magnificence.

Has travel changed me? Absolutely. How? I don’t really know. It’s a lot of little changes i’ve noticed that seem to culminate to something greater.

For one, my eyes feel permanently wider. I am more conscious of my immediate surroundings – buildings, routines, people living around me. I see much naivety in that girl who, three months ago, boldly waved goodbye to her family and lover before flying across the globe solo, with but a suitcase full of dreams and absolutely no grasp on what was ahead of her. Travelling solo gave me the opportunity to be my own compass, best friend, confidant, day planner, point of frustration, mediator. I have challenged myself, looked after myself, listened to myself, felt so totally myself.

And everything feels a little different now. Richer, more saturated, fluid, beautiful. I have so much love for the world, my teacher.

And so while I am still lost for words when it comes to summarising my 9 week adventure (I cannot) maybe my most articulate observation is this: seeing the world not only gives you perception, love and awe for what’s out there, but also what’s always been all around you.

I don’t need to find the words to describe it. I shall live the magic and gracefully breathe it into my photos, words, art, and living.

The travel bug, now nestled permanently inside my belly, is already stirring, craving new adventures, culture, adrenaline, the allure of the unknown.

I am already planning my next adventure and will let you in on this little (big) plan of mine soon.

Happy 2011, lovelies x.

The concept of home is a funny thing, and in recently leaving one, returning to an another one, and now housesitting in a temporary one, it’s a topic that has been playing on my mind of late. I’m not seeking a resolution or epiphany with this post as such… just letting my thoughts free flow…

“Home is there the heart is” … that’s what my Mum has always said, and growing up, that made a lot of sense to me. Our family home was full of heart. But since finding my own independence in a turbulent and changing world, I find my heart is split many ways: in people, in faraway places, experiences, the past, in future hopes and maybes. So where does that leave my home exactly?

While I feel like i’ve lost that stable, enduring ‘four walls’ type of home for the time being, I feel like instead, I am noticing and taking comfort in my many other homes. My homes are safe spaces in which I come back to after busy days interacting in a daunting world. My homes are places where I wear no masks; places I can take time out from responsbility. My homes are spaces I either store possessions, as visual references for past experiences, or places within which I have created memories.

My parent’s house is still a home. My favourite cafes are also my homes. Japan, Sydney, Uni. My friends are my homes (‘homies’?) My journal is my home.

Dear Fifteen Rosemont,

It’s early in the morning of the day I will leave you. It’s raining as I write… how poetic, poignant, perfect. As pen tracks the paper, my hand feels wise; incomparable to the girl who naively strode through your canary yellow door, August 15 2008.

Mementos are boxed but sixteen months of lived memories dance; they will live on. You have beautifully impacted my world, and while I will miss your creaky floorboards, jasmine lattice and high ceilings, I know my need for you has been fulfilled; saturated. There’s nothing left for me here.

Now, change beckons. Ever the girl with a thousand plans and goals and convictions, this time I find myself adrift on an ocean of opportunities, maybes, vivid uncertainty. Shadows, spinning somersaults, sunrise dawning, I sign off from this changing, unforgettable chapter, and send my call out to the universe… what’s next?

Find me a new home, new experiences, new connections, new loves… new purpose.

This new journey awaits, and i’m your open book.

I am ready.