Category: The French Diaries!

Edouard and I have made a decision that we would like to share with you.

We have been feeling restless. Restless for something and we didn’t know what. It was strange for us to adapt to this new world of ours, apartment, city life, job, sleep and then repeat. We were with each other so we didn’t care. We were with Edouard’s family that he hadn’t seen for so long and I was visiting England. We were happy.

Are happy.

But the horizon is still out there and I know that this little city life of ours isn’t what we want. When we first moved here everything was wonderful, and we do appreciate what we have here. We live in a great apartment with a bakery across the road. There’s nightlife, restaurants, museums- everything you could wish for after being away from society for so long.

But there was something missing. Something that would make us stare off into the distance as we sat at the table with our coffee or tea in hand, remembering our adventures with our crew.

“It was so amazing when we did this-”

“It was so wonderful when we did that-”

But what now?

We had looked at buying a piece of land in the country and withdrawing from the franticness of city life. We became excited about the prospect of building an eco house or restoring an old building. We spoke about living by the ocean so we could build a small boat and experience the waves, the salt breeze and the sand beneath our feet.

We still spoke of travel often, about where we wanted to go and what we wanted to do. But the idea of finding a “home” was still prevalent.

We want to get out there, live and experience life.

“We can buy the land and still travel!” I would suggest.

Edouard would agree and then we would talk about all the places we wanted to go, the countries we wanted to visit. And the restlessness turned into a sudden unbearable itch.

And as I’m writing this, I can feel an excitement bubble up inside me. I can picture myself in the place I want to be. I’m still so endlessly inspired by Delos. It has become a way of life for me to follow my dreams. And I know now.

It’s time for another adventure.

So, we’ve made a decision.

We’re buying a boat.

Now it sounds very easy to say, and I suppose it is. How can someone like me just go and get myself a boat?

But why don’t I try?

I spend every day talking to you guys, the Tribe about your future aspirations and dreams. I always try and push you guys towards what it is you really want to do. And I realised today that it’s actually pretty difficult to take that leap, isn’t it?

I’m suddenly drawn back to that day when I bought my ticket for Delos. I knew my entire family were against it. Even my friends didn’t think I could sail across the ocean. Maybe I didn’t even believe it. It was a terrifying thing going against the sense of everyone else and to follow my own path. But it became the best thing I ever did.

And I’ve decided I’m doing it again.

And there’s no point in waiting.

I’m not going to wait for four years to do anything. If I want to do something, I’m going to act on it and get everything I can in place. I’m so aware that things change in the future. Time runs out. I don’t want to be in this position. I don’t want to rely on future circumstances. I don’t want to rely on a better time because that hour may never actually come.

I want it to be now.

So me and Edouard have begun searching and researching. We’ve found a few we like already, one of which is a Amel Kirk. As I looked over at it there was a sort of peace that settled in my stomach. I instantly trusted this brand. It was familiar to me. I never even expected to find an Amel, least of all of one in our area in Marseille- which is silly I suppose, seeing that they’re made in just the North of France. But to think that I would even have the opportunity to find one within my meagre budget was surprising. We’ve found a few others that we are keen on as well, including a Maurice Griffiths Atlantic Clipper.

We’re looking for something about 11metres with a liveable space for a couple and another. We haven’t even met that couple yet, but we know when we start cruising it would be fun to do it with other people. There’s a comradery that comes along sailing and exploring and I’m excited to share that with others.

I don’t have the most sailing experience, but after talking to some sailing groups, they all encouraged me to simply go for it. Edouard is more the capable sailor, having experience of an ocean crossing and from sailing around Brittany and England.

I’m nervous at the idea because I know it will be a huge challenge for me. But that’s the beauty of challenges- they make you grow and expand your mind. I feel as though I’m a completely different person of who I was a year ago. I am irreversibly changed by what I have experienced on Delos.

And of course I have turned to them for help. Mr Brady is excited at the prospect of me and Edouard getting out there, and said he expected us to film it too.

Which of course we will.

I’m looking forward to this new chapter, and I intend on making things happen within the next six months.

I am not waiting.

I want to experience what I did with Delos alongside Edouard. I want us to explore new places and travel on adventures together. I want us to get out of the renting rat-race, away from the pollution of the cities and the klaxons of angry drivers. I want to feel the sun on my skin, the waves on my legs and rum in my belly.

Right now, I’ve got the rum.

The world is waiting out there and I need to answer the call.

Our budget, is of course tiny. We’re looking at boat financing options and of course saving as much as we can. But our budget I would say is max 17k euros- if the boat financing company are very nice to us. So I’m working as hard as I can, painting as many commissions as possible, selling my tee shirts on the shop, my books on Amazon, working for my beloved Delos and you guys, of course make my dream that much closer to being possible.

You’ve made me glimpse that little further into reality to hope that I can do this. That this life is achievable. I’ve grown wanting to create and amazing story for myself and I’m getting there bit by bit. But I’ve learned that it mostly happens when I take risks and make choices that push me out of my comfort zone.

So if you guys have any advice, know of any boats- please send them my way!

But I have to do this. I have to.

Because I’ve felt this panic before settling in my gut. It’s the same panic I had when I was living in England. That’s a sign from the Universe telling me to make changes. I started a journey and I thought it was going to lead us here in Marseille forever. Little did I know that actually the adventure is still out there, waiting for us.

Edouard and I have a path before us and we’re ready to start following it.

With you guys.

Want to help? You can help towards our boat fund by donating here! 

You can also help us in this dream by signing up as a Patron. By doing so even for a dollar is a HUGE help. You also get to read early blog entries, extras and videos! Interested? Sign Me Up!

You can also help another way by buying one of my books or visiting my shop of tees and gifts! I hope you like! Much love!

Thank you as always! Lizbef x

The days come and go in England and of course it never disappoints. I’m so happy to talk to anyone in fact that I am at risk of appearing strange. I’m so happy to see my friends and not have to alter my accent, talk slowly or avoid using slang.

“You up to owt?”

“Nah mate, I ain’t, jog on over!”

“I’ll be there in a jiffy!”

My friends and I quickly arrange to see our buddies in Cheltenham, Maddy and Chloe. We’ve been long term friends, but they have made the “break” from Nuneaton.

Nuneaton is an incredibly old town, being originally built from a Nunnery and settlements forming around it from the 12th century. In the Victorian era, the inhabitants worked mostly in the coal mines, of which have within the past five years shut down. Famous for its market, which was founded in 1233, it’s also known for one of the most predominant Victorian writers, George Eliot. George Eliot created books such as Middlemarch and Silas Marner and was born Mary Anne Evans. Brought up in a world where men mostly dominated the written word, Mary invented her pen name and pretended her works were done so by a man.

It was a revelation when it emerged that these incredible works were in fact done by a woman.

Her story inspired me growing up, and of course I feel as a girl growing up in an old fashioned town, you always feel like you have something to prove.

Now Nuneaton is a very special place. It used to be a thriving market town with independent businesses. I remember the yearly bright carnivals running through the streets where people would throw money, cheer and wave to the passers by. I remember when everything seemed brighter and more colourful. Today, Nuneaton represents a sort of ghost town. The businesses have shut down and the shops have been taken over by 99p stores aplenty. The reason is probably due to a number of things, online shopping, competitive bigger stores, huge shopping malls being built in industrial areas, lack of money, lack of investment, the recession and high rental fees. But that isn’t why it’s special.

It’s special because coming from Nuneaton means you have been brought up in a town where you learn how to use your common sense. It’s a place where you learn the meaning of hard work. It’s a place where you discover the meaning of family, loyalty and ambition.

Ambition, mostly because people wish to leave Nuneaton to follow their dreams.

I hope that with time the area will improve. I hope that life gets put back into this wonderful little place. And I suppose I love this area because I grew up here. My friends and family live here.

It’s a place that has always made sense to me in a world where I can’t fathom life.

But once you escape Nuneaton…

Not many return.

Such as Maddy and Chloe. 

Me, Tommy and Steve bundle ourselves into Tommy’s car and drive the two hour distance to Cheltenham. I’m feeling a little bit delicate after going out the night before with the boys for my “Welcome home” party and am relieved when I find a bottle of brandy in Tommy’s car.

“What’s this?”

Tommy laughs in answer. “That’s from the other evening out. I forgot about that.”

I take a heavy swig from it in any case, hoping that will keep the hangover at bay. It works every time. We drive on, punk music playing, a supply of hot toasties for us to snack on and share stories from the past year with each other.

We’re heading to an Octoberfest, a German styled celebration with German music and of course- beers aplenty.

It’s so amazing seeing Maddy and Chloe when we arrive and we quickly fill a flask with enough rum to get us through the night and head off.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been around girls who are like me. Chloe is a wild firecracker who does pretty much whatever the hell she wants. I love that. I’ve never met her friend Lauren before but I immediately like her as she chats to me as though she’s known me for years.

The festival is in a field in the freezing cold in a tent. We walk in and sit down at some benches and tables in front of a stage, the beers so big in our hands that you have to hold it with both. More people start to stream in, wearing their German styled costumes, women wearing tiny hot pants, shivering in the winter cold. I love the British mentality sometimes.

“Prost!”

We all drink as one, making a rule whenever anyone shouts the German word for “cheers”, we all have to drink.

“Hey Chloe, have you seen my- Prost!”

Drink.

“Hey Lauren- what is that on your coat?”

“Where?”

“Just there- Prost!”

The British spirit is high and everyone is standing up and dancing with one another, people clapping, stomping their feet and slapping their hands against the table to the sound of the beat.

“PROST!”

I forget the cold, I forget the night, I forget everything. Nothing else matters as I’m here with my friends, laughing, joking and singing the night away. We run outside into the field and recreate the Battle of the Bastards scene from Game of Thrones.

“Zigzag!”

“Zigzaaaaag!”

The next thing we know we’re in the back of a taxi on our way home to get fish and chips and collapse in bed. It’s been such a wonderful night. My heart is full and my cheeks ache from grinning so much.

These are my brothers.

I watch them laugh and joke with one another and smile. I’ve needed this so long. I’ve needed this release of energy, this ability to shout, laugh, scream and cheer all at once. We’re Saxons at the end of the day. We’re British. We need to celebrate life because it can be hard at times.

These are the moments that matter.

And they demand recognition.

I go to sleep on a bed made of pillows next to Steve and Tommy. I can hear the snores start from them immediately as Maddy switches off all the lights.

“Goodnight, mate!”

I take a deep breath, smile and fall asleep instantly.

The next day we go for a hike in the countryside. The woods are bursting with reds, oranges and yellows as Autumn has well and truly taken over. I huff and puff next to Tommy and we both realise with a start how unfit we are.

“I need to get myself to a gym!” I wheeze.

“Is that a rope swing?”

We look up and indeed find a rope swing at the top of the hill. Within a moment, Maddy, Tommy, Steve and I are children again. We spin each other around and around, forgetting that we’re all either nearly thirty or over, whooping and cheering as we spin over each other’s heads.

We walk on, the English countryside spanning wide, the hills rolling high above the towns and cities in defiance. We stand in a row together as we look on at the land around us. How many other people have stood here in this place and done the same thing? How much had the landscape changed? How long has this hill been untouched by the stones and rubble of man?

I’m abruptly proud of who I am and where I come from.

I’m British, and here I am in my beloved homeland. The scents of the wet earth fill my senses as the wind throws my hair around my face. We shiver as one, side by side as the grey clouds roll like ghostly oceans in the sky.

“Beautiful, ain’t it?” Maddy says.

We all nod, not needing to say another word to show we agree with him.

And it is beautiful. It’s beautiful because after a year I’m here. It’s beautiful because I’m standing with the friends I knew when I was fifteen. To have gone through all of those days knowing each other and spending time with one another. It’s beautiful because we grew together overcoming obstacles, making decisions and staying young at heart whilst the world demanded for us to grow up.

It was beautiful because after all these years, we were standing here as one.

Together.

We made it back to the rugby festivities where I tried my best to make a good impression and speak all of the French I knew. A few cans of beer later, I was agreeing to join the ladies’ rugby team.

“I don’t know why I agreed to that,” I mumbled as we were on our way home.

Edouard raised an eyebrow at me with a smile, the blood drying on his face. “You get overexcited, Lizzie.”

Edouard and his friend Philip were greeted like heroes by the rugby team and we were keen for everyone to have an amazing time despite them losing the match. We drank at the pub, celebrated and soon I couldn’t fight back the yawns.

“Are you ready to go home?”

Edouard nodded eagerly. “Yes, I am very tired.”

He walked back to his friends and after exchanging a few sentences in French, his friends stared at me incredulously.

“You want to go?!”

I raised my eyebrows in mock shock. “Me?”

“Edouard says you’re tired-”

I waved them off, insulted. “Edouard said he was tired!”

The eyes turn to Edouard in suspicion. The look of utter disbelief passes over his face as he stares at me.

“Oh really?”

I nod with a shrug. “Yeah. Of course I don’t want to go.”

I do want to go home. But my pride is a fickle thing. The accusation that was directed on me from the rugby players has now turned to Edouard.

“You want to play it like that, do you?” Edouard said. “Fine.”

The next thing I know, we both have fresh drinks in our hands and a swirl of regret is settling in my stomach.

“Oh.”

Edouard laughs as we join back in the festivities for another couple of hours until we finally manage to slip away. By now, I’m feeling the effects of the rum. I’m suddenly missing England. It’s been hard trying to speak French all evening. It feels difficult sometimes trying to make new friends when you can’t convey your personality.

The next thing we know, we’re passing an English pub called The Queen Victoria.

“We have to go in!”

Edouard has a broken face and I’m insisting on going to another pub? What’s wrong with me?

“Excuse me!” I say to the barman. “Do you have anyone here who’s English?”

“No, but there’s a Canadian who works here.”

The next thing I know, we’re drinking shots with the Canadian called Gary. It’s amazing to talk fluent English with someone and not worry about speaking slowly or being concerned if people don’t understand my jokes.

Edouard and I at the same time bump into a friend of his from the village he grew up in. Soon, we’re drinking shots, cheering, and going to another bar as soon as that one shuts.

It’s an amazing night and I’m suddenly letting my hair down.

We invite Gary back with us to the apartment and we’re soon jamming out on the guitar and drinking wine. Giving him our bed in the main room, Edouard and I go to our makeshift bedroom in the cupboard in the kitchen. It’s huge, enough space for us to fit in a double bed. Painting it blue and hooking up fairylights, it’s a romantic little secret place in the apartment with a ladder leading up to it.

Edouard’s been so amazing staying out so late even though he’s got a broken nose. He’s taken no painkillers and I know he won’t in the morning either. He always lets me do whatever I want, never telling me what to do or ever being embarrassed of me. I could walk across Marseille naked and he would support me.

I opened my eyes in the darkness of the cupboard and rolled over to face Edouard. He was still fast asleep, his face a bruised blotched mess of blue and black. Guilt washed over me. I pull the covers from myself as quietly as possible and creep to the end of the bed. Edouard really is a wonderful man and I wanted to surprise him with breakfast.

Still feeling drunk, I sneak out of the cubby and swing my leg over the side onto the ladder.

I’m going to make him an omelette. I’m going to make him a wonderful coffee and tell him how amazing he is. I’m going to take care of him. I’m going-

The ladder moves.

Suddenly I’m falling.

I have a clear moment when I am suspended in the air. The wall is sliding down across my view for what seems like minutes, but is actually seconds.

Suddenly a huge bang fills the room and my leg is caught beneath a rung.

I’m on the floor.

Ow! Ow! Ow!

A moment passes where I wonder whether there is any chance in the world no one heard the noise. I look up and see Edouard’s startled bruised and swollen face peering over the side. He sees me and suddenly jumps the entire way down like a wild man, landing on all fours and darts over to me.

“I was trying to make you breakfast,” I offer weakly.

He picks me up instantly and carries me into the next room and lays me on the couch. I can’t walk. The pain is excruciating in my ankle and suddenly I’m worried I’ve broken something.

“I wanted to make you breakfast,” I say again, startled.

He gives me a kiss. “Don’t move.”

Before I know it, he has a pot of tea for me and is making an omelette for us all.

I look at him as he walks in, his face broken as I sit there barely able to walk.

A sensation of love washed over me as our guest continued to sleep behind us, oblivious of what had just happened.

“You’re amazing,” I tell Edouard, giving him a hug. And suddenly I want to cry. I want to cry because I’m in pain. I want to cry because he’s in pain. I want to cry because I’m so happy and he’s such an incredible man.

Living in Marseille has been a challenge in many ways but it’s also been wonderful. It’s been such a gift to be living with someone you love so much and to share an adventure together. And whether we’re on the ocean, in the woods, beach, city or on a mountain, we were there together.

I was learning about myself all over again. About giving and taking. Edouard had done so much for me already to make my time in France as beautiful as possible.

I really was a lucky woman.

Gary woke up eventually and joined us for breakfast.

“I thought I heard a bang!” he said, inspecting my ankle.

But whatever pain I was in was quickly overridden by the delicious scent filling the room. Edouard had made a cheese and onion omelette and it really was delicious. 

“Well guys, it’s been awesome! Meet again soon?” Making promises to meet up again, Gary left. It was nice to make another friend in Marseille.

Edouard and I were really enjoying our time together in our apartment. We had painted the bathroom and toilet and we had put more finishing touches to the place to make it our home. We would spend our days working and our nights talking with each other on the sofa. We didn’t want a tv in the apartment, preferring to watch films on our laptops if we felt like it.

Edouard made an appointment for a doctor to my relief. I was glad he was seeking someone out to help him. That was a good thing about Edouard. He always found a way, despite the hospital telling him no.

“You do not have to come with me, Lizzie,” he said in concern as I hobbled down the stairs after him.

“I do,” I winced, realising that wearing flip flops was probably the most stupid thing I could do with a sprained ankle. “I’m coming with you.”

“Lizzie-”

“I’m coming with you. I want to be there.”

It was slow going and I realised very quickly that my ankle was a lot worse than I expected. Still, it didn’t matter. Edouard had a broken face and he hadn’t complained once. After turning up to one of the richest parts of Marseille, we were both biting our lip at the worry of how much this was going to cost.

“I’ll pay for half,” I told him.

“No, Lizzie, I have health insurance. Hopefully they will cover some.” He shrugged, looking very out of place in his torn shorts and his wild hair in the pristine waiting room. “Maybe this is silly. It’s just a nose.”

I knew it was just a nose. But it was his nose. If he wanted it put back then I would support him in that.

I liked the female doctor immediately. In her forties with short cropped hair, she was a beautiful woman. A picture of her daughter was in the corner and her clothes were expensive but simple. Paintings of the sailboats of Marseille surrounded us, and I instantly felt comfortable. I wondered of all of the people that had come in here, paying hundreds of euros to have something changed about themselves or fixed. 

Today was a difficult age to feel beautiful in.

I caught my own reflection in the mirror as we talked with the woman. My hair was scruffily piled on top of my head and I was wearing Edouard’s clothes. It was getting colder and I didn’t own anything suitable for my new home apart from hotpants and crop tops from Delos. I looked away quickly.

Edouard told me I was beautiful every single day.

That was good enough for me.

After listening to the conversation and not understanding a single word, I soon learned that it was a simple procedure to fix. She booked him in straight away to return for an operation in three days’ time, not even charging us for the appointment.

“They will have to break my nose on the other side,” Edouard explained to me as we were driving home. “And I will have to be off rugby for six weeks.”

I didn’t mind this, but I knew he was hugely disappointed.

“I will have to join a gym as I cannot play rugby,” he said. “I need to get stronger.”

The men who they had played against previously had been monsters. And Edouard’s team played more as a hobby and to meet new people than anything serious. But I think they had been startled with the two big injuries on their first match.

“Philip will be unable to play for three months,” Edouard said. “I do not know if he will play again.”

“A broken shoulder will do that.”

I was keen to join the gym. I had enjoyed myself thoroughly over the past 8 months and it was time to get healthy again. Plus, if I was to live a life in France where the diet was mostly meat, cheese and wine, fitness was essential to keep things balanced.

Plus, I kind of enjoyed watching Edouard work out…

Edouard’s operation day came quickly. I think we expected us to cost about 600 euros. Luckily, it cost us 50 euros. I don’t know how, but Edouard’s gift with people enabled us to still be able to afford the rent the next month.

I waited nervously with him in the waiting room holding his hand. White pristine walls surrounded us, every inch immaculate and disinfected. I looked at the people waiting, eyes downwards, not saying a word to each other as they either waited for their own appointments or for family members.

I always get a bit emotional in hospitals of any sort. It reminded me of my sister and I visiting my Granddad when he was ill. The scent of chemicals mixed with food and old clothes. The sound of rasping coughs and wailing for the nurse. The march down the freezing corridors, a maze of signs, directions, nurses and families walking back and forth, hurrying, hurrying, hurrying.

God bless the NHS.

But this was not like the hospitals in England. This was a private clinic. No rush, no stress, no wailing or crying, no overworked doctors and exhausted nurses.

I exhaled loudly.

Edouard’s hand grasped mine, jolting me back to reality.

“It’s ok, Lizzie,” Edouard said, squeezing my fingers.

I felt so selfish all of a sudden being emotional when it was him who had to have the operation. I knew it was a simple procedure, and of course I knew he would be ok.

I just hated the thought that he had to go through this at all.

We were led to a private room and Edouard had to change into his hospital gown. There were two beds within with a couple patiently waiting for their family member to come out of surgery. The husband was lying on the bed whilst his wife played a game on her phone.

I sat next to Edouard as he caught up on an hour’s sleep, anxiously checking the time every ten minutes until the doctors finally came for him.

“I love you!” I said, giving him a huge hug and kiss.

“I will be fine, Lizzie,” he told me with a smile. “See you soon!”

I watched him go until the door finally clicked shut.