Going Home: The Journey

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Despite a small spout of panic in the morning when I thought Cedric wouldn't wake up in time to take me, I made it successfully to the airport within plenty of time - I forgot Cedric is a man and can get out of bed 10 minutes before he has to go anywhere.

By the time I got to the departure lounge I had two hours to wait before my flight so used the time to write the following:

"I have imagined and dreamt of this time (going home) ever since I set foot in France all those months ago (6 months to be exact). I wondered so much what it would be like after months of not being at home and not seeing everyone, to finally return.

And travelling on my own doesn't scare me as much as it used to, I actually really enjoy it although I always experience a mingled sense of excitement and nerves. This particular journey is no different but the excitement levels are probaby higher than the nerves. I also sense this journey is going to be important emotionally and spiritually for me. A journey of going home, a place I haven't been for six months, a place I was so pleased to leave and get away from! But being away for so long has made me appreciate it more and I look forward to returning, to seeing the sea again, and the mountains, the wild, rugged mountains of Wales! And of course, family and friends.

On a spiritual level, this journey is going to be important because of everything God has done to me since I've been away. God sent me to France to realize who I am and now He's sending me back to Wales, back to my roots, back to where I first began all those years ago when I was so young and insecure. God has often reminded me of Moses' journey - he left Egypt to live in a land that was not his own and to be drawn closer to God, who then sent him back to Egypt, the place he'd run away from.

Being in France has helped me to see Wales differently and to be proud of my Welsh roots rather than trying to run away from them. Luc, my French pastor, has given me a French book on the Welsh revival - it's strange to be living so far from Wales, and yet to be learning so much about it spiritually. It confirms to me things God has told me and my decision to go back to Wales after this year is over. God has great plans for me back in Wales and I just have to believe that."

It was a beautiful morning as we drove down the French motorway to the airport. The sun wasn't quite up and it was one of those cold, crisp mornings when everything has a hazy grey/blue appearance to it and you just know it's going to be a glorious sunny day. As the sun finally began to appear, the sky beyond the German mountains became tinged with pink until the sun fully appeared as a bright, fiery burst of light.

Getting through to the departure lounge went ok. I was a bit worried that they would ask me to do self-check in because I hadn't checked in online but it was fine and the attractive Swiss guy behind the desk handed over my boarding passes no problemo.

Going through to the gates section was rather amusing - it was one of those mazes made with metal poles and and security cords, suitable for when there's a huge queue of people but seeing as I was the only one there, it seemed a bit pointless to have to wind my way in and out so many times until I reached the podgy French security guard at the other end. When he'd checked my passport I suffered a moment of confusion as I tried to figure out where the exit was. The amused guard pointed to his left and told me 'C'est mieux,par-la'.

On the way to the departure lounge I was confronted with one of those automatic walkways. I told myself I wasn't going to be lazy and walk along it but at the last minute I noticed a sign above it, saying 'Departure Lounge This Way.' So I had to make a small diversion and quickly step onto it, nearly falling backwards as I did so, much to my amusement and I'm sure to the guy's behind me.

After nearly an hour of sitting in the lounge, I heard a guy speaking in English! He had a proper accent too, no trace of French in it. It felt strange to hear someone other than Aida and her family speaking English.

I finally arrived on English soil just after 11 o'clock on Wednesday afternoon. I couldn't help but smile to myself as I listened to all the English conversations going on around me. As I was going through the UK border I thought of what Aida had told me about British people being much friendlier than the French. The man directing the queue at customs wasn't exactly chatty but his Mancunian accent amused me. As I was leaving I heard him make a sarcastic joke to one of his colleagues and I thought of how unsociable the French can be and wondered if they ever banter like that at work.

As I was coming down onto the train station it got even better. One of the station staff was standing there and he took one look at me with my big bag and joked,"A weekend away was it?" I smiled but informed him that no actually, I'd been away for 6 months. Why do men always assume that women can't travel light? He asked me where I was heading to in what I now see is a very typical British friendly manner. You certainly don't find that in France. When I told him my train wasn't until 13:00 he pointed to the cafe behind him and said,"Time for a coffee." Oh, how I love the British!

But the British weather was one thing I certainly hadn't missed. I left France basking in glorious winter sunshine only to come across the channel to wind and rain. The plane journey over had been made rather disappointing by the dense cloud obscuring the landscape below from view, meaning I'd missed watching us come over the border which I'd been so looking forward to. However, as we'd started to descend the cloud cleared and I got a glimpse of the typical English red-brick houses and the grey wet winter weather which made me realize that I was indeed 'home'.

Other things I noticed as I came off the plane and into the airport, things I'd somewhat missed not seeing were English policemen in their bright yellow jackets and black helmets; a big B&Q store; english money and english slogans written on the walls.

In some ways being back all of a sudden felt so strange but at the same time, so familiar and it was almost as if I'd never been away - a feeling which grew more and more as the week drew on.

I felt like I'd left another world in leaving France - a sunnier, rosier kind of world, only to come back to a wet, grey and depressing one.

As I travelled into Wales on the train to be greeted by heavy rain and dirty,wet,grey countryside, I began to wonder 'what did I actually miss?' Or perhaps it was exactly that which I did miss.

The closer I came to home, the faster my imagination's visions of it disappeared and became more and more envelopped in reality. Gone was my vision of an emotional family reunion on Harlech train station - Mum had already phoned to say I'd have to walk back with Jack and Rosalyn.

When I did finally make it through the door of 151 Glan Gors I was instantly struck by how small and cluttered it seemed and I began to long for the apartment back in France, in particular my bedroom. By the end of the week, all I can say is that I was rather glad to get 'back home' - as I came to refer to it.

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