It’s past 9pm when I catch up with Lizbeth and some friends in a bar, in the district of Cours Julien. I rushed from rugby to be on time, so I didn’t take my shower, I’m muddy and stinky when I pass the pub’s door.
I twist and turn in my seat, the stagnant plane air working its way in and out of my lungs as I try and find a vision of peace in my mind. It’s been 27 hours of flying and my eyes snap open as soon as the pilot tells us we’re about to start our descent into Marseille.
Time has come and gone pretty fast here in Australia. I can feel a bubbling of anxiety rising up in my chest knowing I’m going to say goodbye to my folks again.
I’ve returned from London exhausted. After a 5am start, we got a train back from Nuneaton, to London Euston, to take a tube to Heathrow, to then get a plane back to Marseille, to get a bus to Marseille train station, to then get a metro, so I could walk the rest of the way home.