After an impromptu hiatus from blogging (I promise the reason why will be revealed soon!) I’m trawling through all the things I meant to post over the Summer.
Back in July perfectly timed with when the sun made a visit, my friend Rach flew over to Paris to spend a fun filled weekend together. I met Rach back when I travelled solo through India, along with the other member of our wolf pack Laura (who is currently working like a trooper in Oz). I swear trying to catch up with wanderlusters is as tricky as licking your elbow, but this makes it even more special when diaries collide and trips are planned.
You see, the friends you meet when backpacking are a pretty special bunch. You often get to know each other in a far flung exotic location, where none of you can speak the language, fully understand the culture and are never sure exactly what it is you’re eating. You can be anyone you want to be, nobody knows any of your sh*t from back home, they just take you for you. At face value.
Because of this some of my most precious friendships have evolved. Like I said, you may go months or even years before you catch up with them again, especially if they continue globetrotting, live in another country or just work and the routines of live make spur of the moment trips harder to do. But when you do see them again, even for a fleeting weekend you know you have something special when all you do is laugh, reminisce and chatter away as if it’s only been five minutes since you saw them last.
Keen to soak up the sun, kidding ourselves we were back on that sun-drenched sand in Goa, Rach and I hit the beach. Munching on freshly baked baguettes, skimming stones and avoided being dive-bombed by hungry seagulls before we took shelter in a nearby bar. So there wasn’t a chilli or curry in sight but I could share the delights of saucisson, an unattractive dry cured sausage that you get handed on a slate with a sharp knife (health and safety in France still amazes me!). Perfect for nibbling on as you sip cold beer listening to the waves crashing and gulls squawking.
Ok, so a lot of the weekend when we weren’t giggling like school girls or putting the world to rights was spent eating and drinking. Another reason why I’ve signed up to the 100 runs in 100 days challenge. Fresh salty moules, crisp fat chips and carafes of cold white wine in a packed lively restaurant for dinner. The following morning, we stretched our legs to visit the stunning Benedictine Abbey hoping to spot a monk making the sweet liqueur. With not a man in robes in sight we tasted cocktails in a pretty atrium, before heading to the local supermarket to stock up on picnic food that we gobbled down basking in the sun.
A few days later we had a sad farewell at the train station, with full tummy’s and happy hearts I waved goodbye to Rach. I told you backpacking friends are the best, especially when they love food and nattering just as much as I do!
