In daylights? In sunsets? In midnights? In cups of coffee?

How do you measure a year?

How should I measure this year? Within the past few months, I’ve experienced more than I usually do within years. This year was an explosion of memories.

...choir concerts...running after trains...journal entries...musical road trips with Eli...emergency rooms...skimming the phosphorescent seafloor...killing myself laughing at Harry/Draco fanfic with Ana...

This year was the beginning of many wonderful things; however, it was also the end of so many others. This story begins with a beginning and an ending. The first half of the semester was finished, and we were celebrating Sara’s 21st birthday...and boy, did we celebrate. The day after, dazed and confused, we dispersed in all directions from Avignon to go on our own separate adventures for two weeks. I went East.

Before I set off to Italy, I went to pick up my mom at Charles de Gaulle airport. We had planned to take a night train to Venice, continue to Florence, and then go back to my place in Provence where my mom would be staying for a week.

But, as many of you may have noticed, my life was cursed before birth to be a perpetual adventure, exciting and annoying. My mom’s flight was delayed for 24 hours, meaning we would miss our train to Venice. So there I was, in the heart of Paris, carrying a week’s worth of clothing and supplies, with no place to sleep. After several hours of being Mary and Joseph on a donkey in Bethlehem, being turned away from fully-occupied hostels, I eventually found a place to sleep for a few short hours.

Early next morning, I found my mom at the airport, with her hair cut shorter than it was when I last saw her. Having already lost one day, we wasted no time. We no longer had a direct train to Venice so we had to hop on and off of several trains to try and make it there. We took a train from Paris to Lyon, and then another from Lyon to Chambéry, and from Chambéry, we hopped on a train to Milan.

It was pretty late when we arrived in Milan. There were no more trains to Venice until the next day. We were stuck in Northern Italy, again with no place to sleep. So we roughed it and slept on benches. I was pretty proud of my mom. Most women would have started crying and complaining at our cold and dusty situation but she just saw it as another adventure.

6 AM the next day, we caught another train and we finally arrived in Venice...and it was marvellous to behold. Canals, gondolas, vaporetti, pigeons outnumbering tourists...it was all too wonderful. We devoured all of it...including the pizza and gelato. We did not devour the pigeons, just for the record.

The day after, we were back on schedule. We got on the train to Florence where we would be staying for three nights. It was a big, beautiful city full of art, history and culture. I missed Charlie here more than ever. She'd know why. Anyway, my mom and I walked all the streets, crossed all the bridges, climbed all the heights. The Statue of David was a particular highlight. It was more enormous than I had ever expected it to be. We also explored the Boboli gardens, which beat all my expectations. Our hostel was also the nicest out of the many I’ve stayed at. The markets, too, were more than awesome. We squeezed the most out of the city, not to mention its environs. We also managed to squeeze a day trip to Pisa to see the Leaning Tower.

All things come to an end, and eventually we had to leave Florence. On our way back to Avignon, we explored quite a few of our train stops: like the villages climbing up mountain slopes in Genova, and the seedy parts of Nice.

We eventually made it to Avignon. My body, aching for surrender, was glad to be home...NOT. While I was gone, the water in my apartment had been shut off by the water company. Welcome home, Gino! I had La Vie Bohème playing in the back of my head. The day after, we snuck into a hostel bathroom to take showers. I then had to go back to school. The absence of water meant the absence of a flushing toilet, so during the day we would use the bathrooms at my university and any other place we can find. Another unwelcome adventure. I got the water back after a few days so no worries.

During my mom’s stay here, she explored the city while I was at school. After classes, I’d take her around the area. I gave her more exercise than she needed, I think. I got her all the way up to Fort St. André in Villeneuve, on foot, climbing paths not intended for human beings. During the weekend, we took a guided tour of Provence. We went to St. Rémy and Arles, where there are ruins of Roman amphitheatres, arenas and monuments, and a lot of the scenes that Picasso painted. We also went to Baux de Provence, which was a medieval village perched on top of the Alpilles (“little Alps”). The Mistral was blowing at 50 km/hr so it was a wonder we weren’t blown off the mountain.

Sunday, the day after, I took my mom back to Paris where she would have to catch her plane to Vancouver on Tuesday. I took her around some of the places I’d already visited. The Venus de Milo waved at me armlessly like an old friend. For two weeks, my mom enjoyed Mediterranean weather of Provence and Italy...the sky was always blue. A single day in Paris and the windows of heaven and the fountains of the deep opened. We were wet to the bone, and I had not thought to bring an umbrella or an extra change of clothes. We would never have gotten dry if it wasn’t for the heat in the shops and the endless walking.



The next day was the end of the beginning and the beginning of the end. Monday...a sunny day with a few clouds...November 12, 2007 ... it was my 21st birthday.

I don’t like to make a big deal of my birthday. I prefer a quiet day so I can re-imagine the life I’ve lived so far and dream about the wonders ahead. I spent my birthday in the gardens of Versailles. In Christian jargon, we talk about being in “our secret, quiet place”. When I hear those words, this is the place that comes to my mind.

Later that evening, I dropped my mom off at the train to the airport and I took a train back to real life.

It’s been almost a month since then. Many things are ending. After a semester in France, I would soon have to say goodbye to the apartment I love so much; to the baguettes, the cheese and the grapes; and to the special group of people I would never have been able to survive France without. I’ll be spending Christmas in Switzerland, with old friends of my parents, and then I’ll be flying back to Vancouver a few hours before the end of this year and the beginning of another year.

So how do I measure this year?

Earlier this evening, I said goodbye to my cousin Nikki on a bus. I hadn’t seen her in five years but she’s taking French courses in Paris for a month so she came by to visit for the weekend. We spent some time wandering around the region. We even got to spend a day in Marseille. She has the same wanderlust that I have. I started thinking about all my travels and all the people who came and went.

Well, I realized that Jonathan Larson’s damn song was right. Measure your life in love. I’ve managed to squeeze the most out of the past 21 years. I can boast of more adventures than so many other people, but the only thing that made it all worth it was the people I spent it with.

The past few months have been a blast and a half; but until I met those four Americans, that Dane, those two Russians, that Brazilian, that Chinese guy...and not to mention those darn Canadians and that Brit, France was nothing but a lonely attic with no Internet access.

You guys taught me so much and I would never have managed France without you. In many languages, the word for hello and goodbye is the same...that’s because with goodbye, there always exists the possibility of a future hello. That is so effin’ cheesy, I can hardly believe I’m sober.

At the beginning of the semester, we talked about la comble de la misère…the bright side to poverty. There were days this semester when I was living in poverty…not eating, shivering underneath my blankets. Well, after many weeks, I realized that, for the past 4 months, you guys have been my comble de la misère. Oh la vache, je pleure.

Je suis plus que content de vous avoir connus, et je souhaîte qu'on puisse se revoir...encore et encore et encore.