Once upon a time in Paris…

My very wise sister once theorised that life moves in five-year cycles: every five years or so there is a desire (or need, perhaps) for change, for a new chapter. Five years ago, I moved to Paris. What started as just an ERASMUS year, turned out to be the year that changed my life. It was, of course, the year that I met Florian – the year that I met the man I was destined to marry. It was a year full of memories that I will carry with me for a lifetime.

And tomorrow, Florian and I will go to Paris, the final destination of our Europe trip together. It seems only right that this five-year chapter – the most exciting five years of my life so far – ends where it began. Although we have been back to Paris since moving to London, somehow this visit feels more significant. It feels like the end of an era; and I am full of anticipation for the next chapter of our lives. I am already dreaming of what the next five years will bring, and I am bursting with hope and positivity.

Paris was a funny time of life. I was both thrilled with life and desperate to return home to my family. This is a feeling I seem to constantly walk around with: happiness, but always with a lingering feeling that everything would be so much better if it was spent with my family too. In Paris though, I constructed my own little family, and though it only lasted for those ten months, it was a very precious family. My life revolved around three wonderful people: Florian (of course!) and two of my most cherished friends, Charlee (you might remember her from Sicily?) and Chloe. I imagine that the next few days in Paris will fill me with memories of my Paris family – people who I truly love – and a longing, once again, for home and all the people that I will find there.

I don’t know how I feel about God, or destiny versus coincidence, but somehow this all feels like it was meant to be. Florian and I were meant to be in Paris, for whatever reason, to meet each other; to fall in love; to get married; and to embark on this adventure that has taken us across Europe and will now take us back to where it all began.

The end of this trip, I believe, will mark the end of our first five-year cycle together. And what an amazing cycle it has been. My advice to people is always to remember – to remember why you are together, how you got together. Whenever I look back and remember our early days together in Paris, I feel warm and happy inside, knowing that I will always have those wonderful memories. Because, really, that’s what life is, isn’t it? Collecting memories all the time, wherever you go, whatever you do.

I love to remember; I love to look back at what was, to observe what is, and to dream of what will be. 

Homesick

I am writing this post from the comfort of a hotel bed. Last night was the coldest night we have spent in the bus – although we wrapped ourselves up in two blankets and as many clothes as we could feasibly wear, we didn’t quite manage to beat the cold. So, tonight, here in the south of France, we are in a hotel. And, most importantly, we are warm.

Having spent almost three weeks in the north of Spain, we decided that it was time for a change. We were there mainly for surfing purposes (apparently the waves are very good around Galicia), but the surfing lifestyle is one that requires patience – a virtue that I, sadly, do not possess. It could be days before the conditions are right, and in that time of waiting there is very little to do (having relegated yourself to the middle of nowhere, and that too in the cold).

Heading over to France was a welcome change. And on Sunday the 14^th of October we celebrated what is to us a very special day: on the 14^th of October 2010, Florian proposed to me in the most magical way. For those of you who don’t know the details, it involved a holiday to Brittany and 250 candles laid out in the rocks by the sea in the shape of a heart, forming the words: Meera will you marry me?

For us, France is a very special place. It was in Paris that we first met and fell in love, and it was – three years later – in Brittany that we got engaged. It seems only right that we spend some time discovering this country, and so here we are, chasing the sun through the south of France. The days are sunny and – at times – quite warm. We have been exploring Biarritz, St Jean de Luz, Capbreton and Toulouse. And, most notably, we have eaten the most delicious magret de canard.

But I am, without a doubt, homesick. I’m not sure when it happened, but it did. And now, whatever I do, wherever I look, everything reminds me of what I am missing…

Listening to Bollywood songs while we drive makes me miss my family – the most vibrant bunch of people you could ever meet who dance at every opportunity possible.

Eating pretty much anything that isn’t spicy makes me miss Indian food – there is nothing quite as satisfying as a home-cooked, pure vegetarian, Gujarati meal.

The sight of small children reminds me of my beautiful niece who, by now, has grown into a little person (almost a year old!) and has, I imagine, no memory of me whatsoever.

Seeing groups of friends together makes me think of my wonderful friends who I can’t wait to catch up with over copious amounts of wine and sushi.

It’s time to go home, I feel it. Though it is an odd feeling, given that we are in fact homeless. But, as they say, home is where the heart is. And in two and a half weeks we will, at last, be reunited. 

Oh, hello Autumn

Somewhere between indulging in cheese fondue in Zurich, picnicking in the Loire Valley and feasting on seafood tapas in the north of Spain, Autumn came. The leaves turned orange, the nights grew cooler and the days became shorter. Somehow, though, I missed it. We were so busy exploring - in what felt like a renewed desire to travel after an unexpected but very welcome deviation back to Cologne - that the end of summer came and went without so much as a cursory goodbye. 

But, of course, here in the north of Spain, the sun's rays are powerful: the days remain warm enough to lie on the beach and soak up the sun (which is precisely what I did on Monday to usher in the month of October - our last month on the road). 

Let me recap what we have been up to for the last two weeks...

The Loire Valley

I don't have that much to say about this, to be honest. The river is pretty, as are the iconic castles that make the area so famous. For me, though, it was quite boring. The towns that we visited all blended in to each other, and the only highlight was the freshly baked pastries we had for breakfast each morning. And the cheese... mmm. 

San Vicente de la Barquera 

We spent one week in this little town, not far from Santander, with some of our lovely friends - Rafael, Carmen and their beautiful 15 month old son Jasper. Here we surfed the waves (well, bodyboarding for me - it is much easier than surfing and requires far less courage!) and basked in the glorious sunshine. 

I must admit that squeezing in to my suffocating wetsuit for the first time in almost two years was somewhat distressing - as was the cold water and the sometimes treacherous waves - but as soon as I caught my first wave this was all forgotten. I was soaring across the sea, being carried back to the shore by the sheer force of the wave, and it was an absolutely exhilarating feeling. And I kept going back for more. 

And the other great thing? Why, the tapas, of course. For those of you who know me, I tend to be a bit of a fish-phobe, but - in the spirit of discovery - I let myself go and tried everything. And it was so, so good. We filled our hungry bellies with lightly spiced octopus cooked with potatoes, juicy king prawns sizzling in oil and copious amounts of garlic, tender grilled squids, anchovies that were like little exploding salt bombs, mussels (that, to be honest, made me a bit sick) and shiny little sardines that looked at me with their sad eyes while I tore the flesh off their little bones. The entire experience was simply divine, and we washed it down with two bottles of the house red. 

I wish I had a photo of this fishy feast for you but, alas, in our hurried excitement and hungry haste, we dived straight in without a thought for the camera. 

Picos de Europa 

We also went hiking in the Picos de Europa - beautiful mountains 20km inland from the northern coast of Spain. The views were breathtaking and, thankfully, the rain waited until we had finished. The rocky sights were dramatic and we spotted a number of caves (in which we imagine there must have been some cheese busy maturing). 

Though we only hiked for 3-4 hours, much of the way was steep and exhausting. At night, as I lay in bed, my legs hurts so much I was practically crying in my sleep - but it was worth the pain. It was simply magnificent. 

Waking up in paradise

And now we are traveling further west along the north coast. This morning we woke up at a glorious beach - the softest sand, crashing waves, dramatic rocks, fragrant trees - and the best bit? We were all alone. The beach was ours. The world was ours. And the future is ours.