The good life
Taking our first journey together in seventeen years of partnership
How do you explain to people that you’re off on holiday with your husband for the very first time in twelve years of marriage and almost seventeen years spent together? Because that’s what I’m at right now.
Not that we haven’t taken time off work in all those years, or that we haven’t been abroad before. But every single holiday Chris and I have taken up to now was planned and executed in function of — at first — his children, and — later — our son. That’s when you get when you start dating a guy who has two young kids, I guess. During the years that other couples sip Italian wine overlooking a vineyard or backpack across Australia, we were building sandcastles at the seaside, trying to establish a bond with two very perturbed boys in those few weeks we had before they went back to their mom for half a year and we went back to work.
There are times over the past years that I have, perhaps selfishly, regretted this. I had imagined my best years to look a little different, to be sure. But you play the hand you’re dealt, as a dear friend of ours would say, and I was very sure this was the man I wanted, so I had to take all that came along with him in stride.
When my parents moved to live in the south of France, another pattern quickly established itself. We go there at least once a year, usually in summer, which means that instead of building sand castles at the seaside we play with our eight-year old in the pool and we visit some of the same sites around there every year. Sometimes this feels like coming home. Sometimes it gets a bit boring — however much I like to spend time with my folks. Sometimes there is a touch of magic in the air, like there was last week — I will write about that week later, backtracking in another blog. But mostly, it’s a fairly homely and relaxed kind of holiday in which nothing much comes to pass. Although we do get to taste some French wine at a vintner’s chateau, by now. You could say we’re making headway.
Chris’ sons are almost adults now, and tend to spend less and less of their holidays with us. And last year, rather unplanned, our then seven-year old conspired with my mom to stay in France two weeks longer than our holidays lasted. It worked perfectly, and all year long grandma and grandson were making plans for a next, full-summer stay.
So that’s where our boy is right now, swimming in the pool and being spoiled to death by his grandparents. And we are child-less and free to go wherever we please, for the very, very first time.
We spent one week all together in Fauch — the week that I’ll write about soon — and set off from there a couple of days ago. We spent the night at a friend’s place in Grenoble, and cut through the southern Alps to get to Italy, where we have decided to discover the Abruzzo region — for which I have a very specific reason, but I’ll write about that later, too.
The first two nights we are staying at a B&B run by friends of Chris’ parents, perched on a hillside running up to the town of Montefiore dell’Aso. The view is stunning, to say the least, and it’s the ideal place to wash off the trip’s dust and heat — I will never — ever! — buy a car without air conditioning again, no matter how ecological my intentions.
From here, we will move further south to Abruzzo.
This feels a bit like a honeymoon, we smile between the two of us. And it really does, except that this isn’t our honeymoon. Actually, I think this is nicer.
We have been married for nearly twelve years now, and we’ve been living together for seventeen. In a stable, loving relationship, this means you know the other person very well. Chris and I are very compatible, and we have learned to navigate the points where we are less so gracefully over the years. There is an ease about our togetherness that isn’t innate to a young, romantic relationship.
All of this makes for a relaxed adventure. Checking which interesting sites to visit in the region (way too many!), deciding where to dine or looking for a place to sleep for the next couple of days… None of it has the stressy sting it would have had during the earlier days of our relationship, when Chris had the habit of roughing it in Latin-America, and I was the good girl who had never been anywhere without her parents. His stories of third-rate hotel rooms with rotten bathroom doors and toilets that didn’t work weren’t exactly helping his sales pitch on travelling together. And then there were the kids, who ruled out anything outlandish, anyway.
Now, turning forty this year, I’m much more at ease now than I once was. Contrary to a lot of people, who require more comfort as they grow a little older and progress up the professional ladder, I don’t need the luxury of this first, beautiful B&B anymore in order to feel good — although it’s a heavenly place to relax for a bit. I can take the uncertainty of not knowing where we’re going next, and I embrace the disappointments or mistakes that inevitably come with an unplanned journey with a smile.
Chris, on the other hand, is no longer prone to rush into extremes, either. We know each other’s likes and dislikes, and contrary to what some would expect we don’t suffer from the common parent disease that without our kids around we suddenly feel like only half a person. We think of them, to be sure, but effortlessly slip into a gentle pas-de-deux. We had the same experience last year, during those two weeks when we unexpectedly found ourself son-less. So we are enjoying each other’s company and all that the road will bring.
Last night we dined in the old village and took a night-time stroll through its narrow streets. Today we saw the beautiful fresco-filled church in the nearby village of Offida, and took the afternoon off to relax and fix lodgings for the next leg of the journey. Tonight we’ll be dining in another old town, overlooking the sea.
So I sit here typing this blog by the pool, watching the sparrows sheering past and taking a sip now and then, and I am feeling very, very fortunate.
The good life, is what they call this. I’ll savor every drop of it.
Like that Italian wine, that I might get to taste now, too.
