30 July, 2023

As I begin typing this tale, a train is rolling out the station from Paris Montparnasse.

I’m sat inside.

En route to the coast.

It’s my fifth train of the day, as I journey from England to France. So begins one year abroad in these foreign lands.

Only a few days ago, I flew out of Canada, my home for the last six and a half years. As I told my friends I was leaving, they all asked the same thing:

“So why are you moving to France? Is it for work?”

No. It’s not for work.

So why?

It’s my grandfather’s fault really.

I spent most of my life in London, England. About 29 years, give or take some trips up North for University.

Towards the end of that time, I was itching for something different.

I’d recently stood at the end of my grandfather’s bed, shortly before he’d passed away. He’d regailed me with stories about his youth. How his best memories were of packing his backpack and disappearing alone to hike through the wilderness.

As I stood there and listened, I thought to myself…I don’t have any stories like that.

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On second thoughts, it’s my sister’s fault really.

She’d recently left England with her partner and moved across the pond to Vancouver, Canada. Every weekend I had to watch as the photos poured in of her skiing, hiking, kayaking, and generally having a grand ol’ time in the beautiful coastal mountains of BC.

Every weekend, a different adventure.

I was off to the pub in London. Again. Same shit, different day.

I thought…I need some photos like that.