Things I’ve done in France (part one.)

My three weeks of French life has officially begun. Since calming down after my brief spell of hysteria, things have been rocking along perfectly. 

The weather is 95% stunning. Obviously, I’ve brought some of the north of England’s weather with me, just to remind me that I do have to come home to the delightful rain at some point. Don’t want to get too comfortable and forget I’ve got the joys of frantic linguistics work to look forward to in October. Luckily, it only really rains very early in the morning, so the biggest inconvenience it poses is the rattle of it wakes me at 6ish, and the hammock is slightly damp. 

I’ve learnt how to make bread (!). The trick is, beat it up as much as you can. Don’t worry if it weighs a tonne, people will politely eat it anyway, and commend your first attempt even if it tastes like someone’s baked a rock. (Point of science- how can 550g of flour, two sachets of yeast, tablespoon of salt, and 350g of water turn out as two different weights each time? Answers in the comment box/postcards please, genuinely baffled.)

I’ve been rockclimbing. Yep. Me. It’s the first extreme sport I’ve done since Sam/Jack/Sara dragged me off to do that bloody wakeboarding thing a few years ago. You can imagine how terrible I was at being flung around a lake on a piece of plastic. Where there is a voluntary situation that could potentially put my life in danger, I know from lots of near misses over my life to opt out. I don’t have the best of luck getting up the stairs in a straight line, so when my host, Alex, asked me how my rock climbing was, I had to really resist the urge to openly scoff.

Not wanting to miss out on any fun, I decided to give it a go. I took a book in case I was too afraid to try it out, anyway. Arriving at the rockface with a bunch of Alex’s friends, the wall didn’t look half as terrifying as it had been in my head. That was until I saw the pro-climber of the group clamber up in order to arrange the ropes. He looked so tiny all the way up there. This didn’t seem like a good idea any more.

Too soon it was my turn, and once I’d managed to get the harness on, take it back off, and replace it so that it wasn’t upside down, I was off. Climbing is surprisingly easy. Strategically, it was difficult, and when you couldn’t find anywhere to place your dangling foot it was pretty strenuous- but over all I enjoyed it. Once you’ve got comfortable doing it, and got some decent grip, it’s just like a weird, vertical crawl. 

Coming down was the scary bit. Your life/spine lies in the hands of the person who is holding a corresponding piece of rope at the bottom of the wall. You have no option but to trust that they can manage the weight, know the pace you want to abseil down at, and aren’t going to drop the rope. Lean back, feet flat, and try not to dangle. The rush of being dropped down a foot too fast isn’t pleasant, but I guess it’s over faster that way.

When I’m not busy scaling rockfaces or being a housewife, I can usually be found in the Best Place On Earth. 

Here.

When I’m ready to roll into bed after a hard day reading and helping around the house, I just scuttle inside this bad boy and get my head down. It’s very bloody different from my camping in Whitby experiences. First of all it doesn’t leak. Second of all I don’t have to share it with two snoring sisters which is a novel change. Only downside is that I’m on hyperalert for spiders/other creepy crawlies during the night, and spend the first hour before I drift off meticulously checking every inch of the mattress/duvet for hidden demons with more legs than necessary. 

The host is cool, the host’s friends are cool, the Czech couple also workawaying here are cool. The guy plays guitar and sings into the middle distance a lot, so I have a nice little backing track to my reading sessions on the hammock. I’m really loving it here.

 

Pleased as punch.