Paris to Pibrac, France, Sunday October 26th

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Luckily, our friend in Toulouse, Michel, had emailed us to tell us about the changing of the clocks for the end of daylight saving, because otherwise we would have been up very early indeed. As it was, grey streaks of early light were just visible between the curtains as we ate our picnic breakfast, and as the antique market stall vendors unloaded their wares outside the hotel.

What a pity we would not be able to stroll along looking at everything. We had to be content with a quick glance on our way to the metro station. The train took us to Gare de Lyon and we walked as fast as possible over the Seine to the Gare Austerlitz. The Gare Austerlitz is a modern station in a beautiful old building. It was from here that the thousands of Jews were sent to the camps in France and ultimately to their deaths in Auschwitz. Reading about the Vichy Government’s collaboration with the Nazis and, in this case, of the government’s initiative beyond the directives of the Nazis, had led me to want to visit the sites of significance mentioned. Most would be left until next time, but it was eerie and sad to be thinking of such a different departure as we waited to leave this station.

The trip was uneventful save for us sitting in the wrong seats in order to face the direction of the train, and wondering at each station if the rightful seat holders would arrive and force us out. Keith, as usual, snoozed and I, as usual, looked at the scenery and our fellow passengers. We ate our picnic and some chocolate at the little table that has so handily come with our self-selected seating, and lazed away the day.

We knew that Michel might be late, it being the day of the Toulouse Marathon and of road closures, so we weren’t worried when he wasn’t there to meet us. Just as we were about to look outside, a tall young man with a very familiar air approached us and asked us if we were Australians. It was Timothy, Michel and Corine’s son, whom we hadn’t met but had seen photos of. He speaks beautiful English, so I am afraid that with his and Michel’s linguistic skills, our French was pretty much abandoned for the trip home.

It was so good to see Corine, and to have a hug of strength and meaning, with her warm welcome back to us. Mäella appeared from another room, and it was so exciting to realise that in a month she will be in Australia and will see our children. Gathered together for a drink and some biscuits, we felt so ‘at home’ here, and knowing Timothy and Mäella added to that. It was a great stroke of luck that led our paths to cross in April in Turkey, and that has given us such wonderful friends. I was particularly pleased to hear that Michel’s mother would be coming to stay, since if she hadn’t been giving her family some information that I wanted to know, we may never have given out and received the signals that told us and Michel and Corine, that we could be friends. So now the only person we had yet to meet was another son, Jean-Baptiste, living in New York, and not likely to be arriving in the next few days just to make things neat for us.

Corine and Timothy had to leave for Timothy to catch the train, and Michel took us to a mushroom and honey festival in the nearby wood – the Bois de Bouconne.The woods are only five kilometres away by car, passing through farmlands. There were lots of people enjoying the late autumn afternoon and the beautiful setting. A falconer was displaying his trained buzzard, a large and intelligent looking bird, which was very used to working a crowd.Loyal community members were selling raffle tickets, putting us in mind of home, so we bought two. The prizes were great – five baskets of mushrooms and bottles of wine - but as always, to us, we were just pleased to have the opportunity to support a local group.

An excellent display of small logs showed the wood from the different trees in the forest – oaks, chestnuts, pine, willow, birches and more – and it was possible to handle them and discover how some were so much heavier and denser than others. Next we entered the realm of the champignon, although the champignon as we buy them from the supermarket did not make an appearance on the displays. Instead the nearly a hundred varieties of mushrooms showed that mushrooms, toadstools and other fungi come in many shapes, sizes and guises. Little signs indicated which ones could be eaten, which would require medical attention if ingested and which were just plain deadly.A lady cut into a mushroom, one of the edible ones, and showed us how it should turn bright blue if it is truly that variety. The blue was deep and vivid, and took only a few seconds to appear. We were amazed at the extent of the important local knowledge that was being passed on here, but despite paying attention, I don’t think that we would dare to eat anything without expert advice. Corine told us of her doctor father’s visit to a family who had eaten poisonous mushrooms, and how, without wanting to panic them, he had called for the air ambulance to take them to hospital. The mother, who had only eaten one mushroom because she was suspicious of them, was much worse affected than the other family members who had hoed into them. So susceptibility to the poison varies from person to person.

At this point, being half past four, there was a loud announcement that the raffle would be drawn, and that only people who were present and could produce their tickets could win. A lady with a toadstool skirt and foresty adornments above, and a man who seemed to be the spirit of the woods, came over to assist. Children were roped in to pull out the tickets, and for each winner the two forest characters sang a humorous song about wine being the answer to all ills.This would have to have been the longest, drawn-out ever prize awarding, what with people not being present, having to go to their cars for tickets, winning twice so nobly resubmitting prizes, and then an unexpected extra stash of wine to be awarded without mushrooms. It was lots of fun, but in the end our hopes were dashed and we moved on to check out the sculptures and the honey display.

Two sculptors were at work, chipping away to reveal their conception of figures in tree branches. They seemed so matter of fact as they banged away on the top of their tools, taking out just the amount of wood they wanted, as if the creation already existed and they only needed to reveal it.

The honey tasting was most enjoyable, with a crispy bread stick provided to dip into each variety, and clear and creamy consistencies from various flower sources. Keith bought a jar each of my favourites, chestnut and acacia, to contribute to Corine and Michel’s kitchen. We had a short walk around the nearby lake before returning to the house.

One of the great things is that we have so much to talk about, but we probably did dominate the conversation with Tanzania. It was great to be able to talk about everything with Corine and Michel, who had been through the anticipatory stages with us as well. Michel and Corine had lived in Algeria when Michel had served his military service as a professor of mathematics at a university there, so over the next few days we were able to exchange and compare lots of experiences. Mäella was interested in accents in English, and hoping to lose her French one. I pointed out that a French accent is generally considered very desirable and sexy in Australia, so maybe she should be able to speak with and without a French accent, as the situation required.

We had internet access, and a considerable backlog for blog publishing (backblog?), which weighed heavily on me. I wrote slowly, because so much had happened every day in Tanzania. As I wrote, I relived the emotions and the events of a time that, as I told Rosie, was one of the most interesting and wonderful of my life. I included lots of detail and hoped that others, particularly sponsors and family, would be able to envisage life in Farkwa. For every part I wrote, Keith chose photos from both our cameras and then published everything on the blog.