Monday, July 04, 2005

going home


I trudged, via wonky wet catslide roofs and Alsacian gnomes, over to to the gourmet supermarket in Strasbourg's Galleries Lafayette yesterday. There I stocked up with healthy leaves and crunchy veg, mini bottles of gourmet dressings, half bottles of wine, fruit and yoghurt for the rest of the tour and then, having filled the fridge at the aparthotel, I realized that I am going home tomorrow!

The tour has seemed infinite. I can't help wondering where I will find my place again amongst the flurry of daily paintings , the packing, the Tour de France, the heat, the bed I know he will have been sleeping sideways across. Will the cats even remember me? Will there be menstuff (you know what I'm talking about) in the fridge and empty sacks of potatoes? Will the laundry basket be empty or overflowing?

Tonight is our last perf of les Boreades. Each night I fall deeper and deeper in love with the music; each night Rameau fits better, the gestures having penetrated through to reach our vital organs, the colours a second skin; each night we fall deeper and deeper in love with each-other, our eyes rising heavenward together like lemmings in their final moment during the glorious 'Entrée des Peuples'; each night we groove harder....

I shall miss Monsieur Rameau.

So, waving goodbye to Strasbourg and preparing for two months in Salzburg (via Madrid, New York and Bremen), I shall leave you with a couple of highlights aside from the music:

The first was being glued to the lined ghosts of Venus Williams and Lindsay Davenport shifting around the screen of an unpaid for 'Canal+' channel (stingy buggers) whilst listening to the BBC commentary on wifi and ipod phones and talking to Julian free on Skpe.

The second was a celebratory posh meal at which we ate the following - translated in such a way the hilarious likes of which I haven't experienced since since back-packing in India:

'Smocked salmon in boursin scum with a panful of unctuous potatoes and chlorophyll cream.'

It was very good.

Get scrubbing Julian, my love, I'm coming home! (Briefly.)


Blogger Antipodeesse said...

Oh how I love (and hate!) appallingly translate menus in France!

4:06 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home