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.

My journey back to France today involved, in the following sequence, a taxi, a train, a bus, a flight, another bus and then a final train for good measure. All due to Ryan Air’s out of the way airports and less than convenient flight times. Granted, for a 9 euro flight from Italy to France, I shouldn’t be complaining. So I won’t.

Moving on, I am now back in Montpellier after an amazing ten days exploring incredible Italy. When walking through the Place de la Comédie tonight, I welled with sadness and nostalgia. It’s the last time I will return here after a short trip, that is, the next train trip doesn’t have a return ticket. No matter how many times I say it over in my head, it remains difficult to believe I’ll be on that plane in less days than the fingers on one hand.

I have imagined that beautiful moment when I will walk through the gates and all the beautiful people in my life (or the few who will get up at 7am for me) will be standing. I’m torn between happiness and sadness about leaving.

But back to Italy – it was glorious.

Rome is such a juxtaposed city of past and present, with hectic, modern life playing out amongst marvelous ancient ruins (and skipping heartbeats worthy paper shops).

Florence stole my heart – I think I lost it somewhere between the cobbled, lantern lit streets by night, Brunelleschi’s Duomo and the pink sunset skies. Or maybe it got wedged in a mound of raspberry gelati, I can’t really be sure. The rhythm of Florence is beautiful – calm but buzzing, alive but not overbearing. And cliché tourist or not, strolling the Ponte Vecchio was magic.

I day tripped through the Tuscan countryside, visiting idyllic Siena (the Duomo must be one of the most elaborate interiors on earth), San Gimignano (referred affectionately as ‘SanG’ by me because the ~imignano part is ridiculous, but more commonly known as ‘Medieval Manhattan’ due to the tower houses that were built for better protection back in the middle ages. And it’s true – from a distance it does resemble the New York skyline), enjoyed a beautiful lunch and wine tasting with lovely Americans at an organic winery on the outskirts, before making it to Pisa to climb the (impressively wonky) leaning tower by sunset, overlooking the Field of Miracles. Yes, it is really called that, and yes, it was really that miraculous.

Then I moved on to Treviso, to stay with beautiful friends Bri and Chris. Bri and I had the perfect day in Venice – involving a gondola ride (worth every cent), climbing (taking the lift up) the St Mark’s Campanile bell tower to see a breathtaking view of Venice (but surprisingly, not the labyrinth of canals), a fizzing spritz on a Piazza, my first glass of Prosecco wine (it’s delicious) followed by a delicious dinner at La Zucca (that means ‘the pumpkin’) and after that, a bar to see live music.

I also had a tour of the infamous Fabrica and got to see an amazing documentary screening about Antipodes + the Q&A afterwards with its Russian film director, and Bri gave me a crash course in bookbinding (thank you!)

My final stop was Verona for a chilled day and a half wandering the gorgeous streets and taking a peek at Juliet’s house/the famous balcony (which was painfully touristy, but I guess still worth seeing). And a final cup of gelati just because.

In other significant news, I discovered what ‘Cibo‘ means in Italian (‘Food‘). How unremarkable… here I was thinking it meant something a little more fancy and essencish of coffee.

Love x x

PS – some photos from Venice.

There is something even more magical about an already enchanting town when there are Christmas markets lining the streets.

I spent Wednesday night in Aix-En Provence, a charming southern French town just a couple of hours away from Montpellier by train. I had already visited back in June, but at that time I was sporting an arm sling and feeling a bit miserable, so I promised myself I would take my happier self back sometime before December. I’m so glad I picked Christmas market time.

There’s this strange contradiction about the markets – in one sense, they are gaudy and loud, lit with excessively bright white lights that hurt my eyes and overexpose the excited kids’ faces. There are metallic helium balloons and dodgem cars and magic shows and barbe à papa (fairy floss, lit. dad’s beard) which all make the centre of town seem like a bit like a warped, overcrowded yet lonely circus.

But then, the other end of the market street feels timeless and tasteful and… perfect. That’s the part with wooden huts adorned with holly and soft fairy lights, vast saucepans of steaming vin chaud (mulled wine) big enough to drown in, locals selling their hand-painted ceramics, wooden toys, bunches of dried lavender, boiled sweets, chewy nougat and marrons grilles (roasted chestnuts). This is the part where I roamed.

I sat on the edge of the water fountain, people watching, a sticky cup of vin chaud balanced wonkily between my knees and steaming bag of chestnuts perched on my lap. The heat of the bag scalded my thigh, but it was that nice sort of pain, and my hands were too occupied cracking open chestnuts to do anything more about it. Peeling away the shells, burnt flakes flew away while the furry, velvety bits slipped under my fingernails… and I was having a moment. The woody flesh – dense, nutty, the epitome of winter comfort. The vin chaud just as much so, spicy and steamy and sweet but tangy, the oil of the citrus rind coating my tongue, the woody cinnamon making my nose tickle.

Bliss.

In just eighteen days I’ll be hopping on a plane.

And after another twenty eight hoursish of horrid fluorescent airport lights, topsy turvy time zones and rubber eggs I’ll suddenly be back in the arms of the people I so dearly love and have so greatly missed.

It sounds too good to be true. And yet it is a little hard to imagine. It has been a long, long time and I know there is so much about these near seven months away that may take even as many months to process.

I’ve been packing up my room over the weekend, and I’m a bundle of nostalgia. The photo board is down, my inspiration wall has been de-blutacked. The big suitcase is out – its presence is ominous.

Change is coming. I’m happy and sad. Happier than sadder.

Just two more days at school before the finale I’d planned from the start: ten nights in Italy.

Then it’s a final pack up in my beloved Montpellier, a couple of last nights to hang in my favourite places and enjoy the Christmas markets.

I’ll see you soon Adelaide x x

Tucked away in a narrow passage amid the windy heart of Montpellier’s old town, you’ll find Les Petits Papiers de Flo.

It is a teensy store bursting with light, warmth, colour and creativity; a utopia for paper, stationery and trinket lovers alike. When I stumbled on this shop during my first week in Montpellier, it drew me in completely, and of all the artisan boutiques I’ve since discovered in this creatively driven town, it’s still my favourite.

I met the shop owner and artist, Florence Van Handenhove, by chance at a private exhibition that my host mother was also a part of and I had been invited to. Florence is just as lovely as her creations, and to my delight, she welcomed my proposal of an interview and to feature her gorgeous creations on my blog.

What’s your story? | Parlez-moi de vous.

I studied drawing and photography at the Beaux Arts school in Montpellier, and after finishing I opened the shop straight away. I had initially thought about selling my creations on a sales/return basis in local shops, but I quickly worked out it wasn’t going to be viable and so the idea of having my own shop came about, where I could sell notebooks, cards, key rings, magnets, decorations and whatever I wanted to work on.

We will have been open for 4 years on the 1st December, and we’re only getting business and busier!

What’s your creative process from idea to shop floor? What inspires you? | Quelle est votre procédé creatif? Comment passez-vous de la conception à la fabrication?

As well as researching the marketplace and products on the internet, I think about everyday life and activities we do, and this informs me about what products would be useful to have for the house and handbag, etc. Everybody needs a diary to organise their daily schedules, and so I design them. Once, when my shop was in a mess, I felt the need to create lists of products to sort everything out. I designed a list book and then that became a product.

I change the illustrations on products from time to time and I introduce about ten new designs per season. I do everything from idea generation to production myself, including the artwork, layout, printing, binding and selling. I start with prototypes to try them out, and if they are popular they become a part of my product range.

What is your product range? | Est-ce que vous pouvez me décrire votre gamme du produit?

I have birthday books, scribbling books, notebooks and recipe books, badges, magnets, tins, boxes, jewelery and decorations for the home.

What is the best part of having your own business? | Quelle est pour vous, l’avantage d’être votre propre patron?

The freedom of having my own shop and doing whatever I want to do! I can organise my own workload, and apart from extremely busy periods of production, for example creating diaries for the start of a new year, this gives me a lot of flexibility.

What is the worst part of having your own business? | Qu’est-ce qui est le plus dur quand on a sa propre société?

If there’s something I don’t want to do… I don’t do it! Although I have to manage my accounting to see the future of my business.

Do you have a creative tip to offer? | Avez-vous une astuce?

Take pleasure in what you’re doing, so you can transmit the pleasure of your creations to others.

Communication is also important. My customers arrive by word of mouth. To be successful in business you must be an all-rounder, well organised and good at all the little parts of business…if you have all of the right ingredients for the recipe, you’ll make a successful cake!

What do you love about Montpellier? | Qu’est-ce que vous aimez le plus à Montpellier?

I love that Montpellier is a small town within a magnificent framework. It has a real village atmosphere, unlike a big city, which is too impersonal. I live in the Beaux-Arts quarter and I know a lot of people in the neighbourhood. When I cross the town on my way to the shop, I will often meet fifteen people. In the north of France, people go home after work. In the south of France, after work people don’t go home – they go to a nearby cafe and meet friends. People are more open here.

Do you find the creative energy strong in this town? | Est-ce vous trouvez qu’il y a une forte énergie creative à Montpellier?

I thought I was going to be alone in running a creative business, but there is a real buzz and it’s only getting stronger. With a number of local studios, we’ve put together a brochure that is distributed by the tourism office. There’s a great creative energy in Montpellier.

Thank you so much Florence!

If you find yourself in Montpellier one day (and I really hope you do!) you can find Les Petits Papiers de Flo at 9, rue de Vallat.

Although these photos were snapped and footsteps walked a little over a month ago already, I want to share some happy memories and beautiful scenery from my time in London, Edinburgh, Glasgow, the Scottish Highlands, Windsor, Bath and Stonehenge.
xx

LONDON:

EDINBURGH & GLASGOW:

WINDSOR CASTLE:

BATH:

I know I’m putting myself out on a limb here, but I think I’ve decided this: The English can cook better than the French.

I love you, thrice-weekly (daily of late) flaky, gooey, elastic croissants, but I’ve got to be honest: you’re nothing compared to the delights of this tiny shop in Notting Hill. If you have not heard of Ottolenghi, it’s time you do.

I recommend the lemon & mascarpone tart, the lentil salad, and the hummus of hummuses (all pictured). They were my picks and were all super delicious.

My lovely travel buddy Becca and I also dined at Jamie’s Italian, in Covent Garden (my favourite place in London). Ahhmazing.

About an hour’s drive from where I’m living is an area called Roquefort-sur-Soulzon, home to one of the most widely known blue cheeses in the world. I have never been a blue cheese fan, but going on a tour through the cheese caves sounded amazing and something worthwhile doing, even if smelly.

Several million years ago, a series of climactic events caused the Combalou Mountain in this area to partly collapse, leaving behind cracks and caves in the rock. Legend tells that a shepherd and his sweetheart met secretly in one of the caves and by accident, the silly shepherd left behind his bag with rye bread and ewe’s cheese. A few days later when the lovers met again, they discovered the cheese covered with green-blue mould. They tried it, loved it, and the rest was history.

Today, the ewe milk is curdled in the cheese dairy, then the natural mould Penicillium roqueforti, which grows naturally in the caves, is injected inside. The cheese develops in the caves too, which happen to be the perfect temperature and humidity conditions for a stable microclimate all year round. And after three months, voilà! Out comes the tangy, sharp, moist, green-veined wheels of cheese.

So I went, and sampled it, and I can honestly say that I like it. If eaten with my eyes closed, nose pinched and simultaneously consuming copious amounts of bread*.

But the day trip with special friends was great fun, seeing the architectural feat of the Millau Viaduct on the way back was equally a highlight, our picnic in the sunshine overlooking the Gorges du Tarn was also magnificent, and the scenery in the south of France continues to take my breath away.

* Don’t take my word for it – the stuff is loved by many.

And this is coming from the girl who didn’t like wine once either. Thankfully I’ve since come to my senses.

It’s beginning to feel a lot like winter.

Sun soaked Montpellier has been a rainy deluge ever since I returned from Amsterdam last weekend. Not that I mind. In fact, after having a back-to-back Australian then European summer, wearing layers and snuggly scarves has really been quite lovely.

But nothing quite speaks of comfort more than wrapping my hands around a mug of steaming minestrone, a generous sprinkling of parmesan and a hunk of crusty baguette.

Oh, the hot water bottle might have found its way out from the back of a draw and into my bed too.

xx

Yes, such a place does really exist.

On an unsuspecting street in London’s busy Bloomsbury. I’ve known about this school for a few years now, and I signed up for their newsletter just to remind myself each month that one day, somehow, I’d take myself to a class.

So, what is this school about exactly? Rather than write the already written, the cute brochure in front of me says, “We address such questions as why work is often unfulfilling, why relationships can be so challenging, why it’s ever harder to stay calm and what one could do to try to change the world for the better. The School of Life is a place to step back and think intelligently about these and other common concerns. You will not be cornered by any dogma, but directed to a variety of ideas – from philosophy to literature, psychology to the visual arts – that tickle, exercise and expand your mind. You’ll meet other curious, sociable and open-minded people in an atmosphere of exploration and enjoyment.”

Cool, huh?

Being the dabbler in philosophy/thinking/conscious living and the hopeless word lover that I am, when browsing the October course schedule, skipping at least a few heartbeats over the lessons planned, like, “How to find a job you love”, “How to make a difference”, “How to spend time alone”, “How to realise your potential,” I spotted “Words for life” scheduled on the Saturday that I would be in town and knew it was meant to be.

And I really felt like an overexcited five-year-old on her first day of school, with a shiny new notebook and sharpened pencils as I walked down Marchmont street, secretly hoping to find a magical entrance of sorts with the platform nine and three quarters type of allure. I walked inside the quite ordinary (but at least green) ‘classroom’ door to actually find a little shop with a to-die-for selection of art/philosophy/psychology books – and a breakfast spread before me. Magic enough!

Our curious little class mingled as we munched on croissants and sipped herbal teas, before we were whisked downstairs into the coolest basement classroom i’ve ever seen, to meet Molly and Rob from We All Need Words for a fun day of word play. We covered everything from twitter statuses to CVs, postcards, complaint letters and advertising in a matter of hours.

At the end of the class we were not given homework – just cocktails and nibbles along with a special parting gift: a tiny glass vial with cork stopper, labeled IN CASE OF EMERGENCY – Break Writer’s Block. Later that night, curiosity got the better of me and ever so carefully I attempted to pull out the coiled note inside. Alas, the fragile glass shattered in my palm and my treasured keepsake was ruined, but in my hand was a tiny little paper scroll filled with writing tips and cool website links for inspiration.

I was totally inspired and with creative textbooks like that, I’d be their student for life.