CHAPTER FIVE: AND SO IT BEGINS

Everyone has worked a jigsaw puzzle. You meticulously spread out all the pieces and then reassemble them to match the picture on the box-top. Should you seek a greater challenge, hide the top and work only from the memory of that picture. That is exactly what I felt I was doing with regards to this trip. I was moving pieces around to recreate the impression in my head, with no box-top to guide me. The pieces I was finagling at the moment were People.

I notified girlfriends first of my pending journey, weaving a libretto that left them gobstruck.

“Why?” they asked, “why are you doing this?” But their question was conjoined with love, respect, and a tad of envy.

I then told the identical tale to a few of my male friends. While I was asked the same why, their question was coupled with eye-rolling and the declaration that I was nuts.

One evening I was chatting on the phone with my friend Suzanna giving her the same shpiel. She and I had become acquainted years ago through our work contacts, and although she has since moved to Roanoke (four hours south of me), the distance has never been a barrier to our relationship.

“You are doing what and going where?” she cried.

“France!” I reiterated gleefully. “I’m going to France and I’m going alone! It’s not that I don’t want company, it’s just that it simply isn’t necessary! I have leased a two bedroom house on the off chance someone should decide they need a holiday. The only rule I’ll enforce is that no one can stay for more than a week or piggy-back on someone else’s visit. I am teeming with plans, like discovering tucked away villages and jetting on a high speed train to Paris or even Italy. I want to traipse through vineyards and olive groves, to drink red wine in cafés and eat mussels by the sea. My cup of ideas runneth over, but I must admit, listening to myself just now, it sounds like it would be more fun if I had someone to share it with…you know, like a Go-To-Girl.”

As I was chewing on this revelation, Suzanna who had been listening intently, (and probably drooling all over herself) pounced. “Me Jaime, me! I will be that go-to-girl! I’ve never been to France and already have a passport. When?” she briskly added, as if only just now grasping the pragmatics of her emotional pronouncement. ″When are you leaving?”

“September 15th,” I stated, “in about eight weeks.”

“I’m there!” she announced. “I’m so there! I’M your go-to girl!”

“Now hold your horses little Missy,” I said with authority. “Don’t you think you might be over reacting? (This felt like déjà vu with Emma.) It’s not that I’m trying to discourage you, but you have no idea if you can even get the time off work. And you have given no consideration to the expense. Hell, the flight alone will cost over $1000.” I gave her a minute to think through the logic and then said, “Sleep on it Suz. There’s plenty of time. I’ll call you tomorrow to see if you’re still interested.”

“Oh don’t you worry,” she assured me. “I won’t feel any different! What time will you call?”

“Eight,” I confirmed. “And it’s okay if you come to your senses. Even though this is a novel idea, my trip is not dependent on your or anyone else’s participation.” We clicked off the line.

I thought on and off next day about Suzanna’s proposal and I must admit that although I had not previously conceived such a notion, this idea was intriguing. As evening closed in, I found myself on a see-saw. The up side was that there was no doubt that commencing this trip with Suzanna would be more than amusing. She and I had once shared a holiday in Mexico where we rode horses in the sand, sunned on the beach, and got drunk off our asses from the endless stream of gratuitous margaritas provided by the resort. So I already knew that we traveled well together. But the downside was that my solo journey would no longer be solo. Ignorance can be bliss. Prior to this emerging option, I had been perfectly content.

I kept eyeing the clock as the time neared eight. Surely her boss had said no or a family member had pre-scheduled her time. Surely she had analyzed the costs and understood that they could spiral quickly. Surely she had weighed the pros and cons and found the scales tipping in favor of rejection.

Pirouetting with this negativity, I was prepared for her to rescind her offer when I placed the call. Because my phone had caller ID, she knew it was me before I could even say hello.

“Do you want to fly Air France or British Airways?” was her line of introduction. “I’m so there Jaime! We are SO going to France! I already cleared it at work and put my passport in my suitcase, but..” she said with a fractional pause, “there IS one thing I need to ask.

At that point, I put the brakes on my enthusiasm and felt my smile slide into a frown. I could sense that something was about to go wrong. “Can I stay for TEN days?” Her words gushed out, giving me no time to respond. “I know you said people were only welcome for seven, but do you think that it would be okay if I stayed ten?”

I was so relieved by this trivial hiccup, that the only words I could utter were, “Holy shit! Of course you can!” But just to make sure that I heard her right, I asked. “Are you really going to be my go-to girl?”

“Yes I am,” she declared, “if you’ll have me!”

I appreciated her query as it signaled her understanding that this was ‘my’ vision and that she did not wish to be an interloper.

“Oh, I’ll have you alright!” I declared. “Start brushing up on your French. You DO know some French right?”

“Not a single word!” she proclaimed with pride, “But that won’t slow me down for one second.”

Suzanna was a bonus I had never seen coming and with her in place it was time to take a serious look at transportation .

Would I need a car? Probably, but for how long? And should that car be a two door, four door, automatic or standard transmission?

What about airline tickets? Should I go with the cheapest fare, which would more than likely include multiple layovers, or should I splurge a little and shop only non-stops?

Would it be better or less expensive to purchase a Euro-rail pass now? If so, should it be secured for a day, a week, a month, or put off altogether until my feet were planted on French soil?

All of these things needed to be moved to the head of the line, but my pump had been primed with regard to visitors. The inclusion of Suzanna, gave me a glimmer of what it might be like to have guests. Were there other girl friends who might add salt or men who might add spice to this recipe? Since I had never tasted this potion before, how was I supposed to decide?

My history is to over-think matters. I’m always afraid that I’ll formulate a decision based on inaccurate or absent information. This analytic sensibility has been a blessing and a curse in my professional career and had me stymied and uncertain now.

Examining the ins-and-outs and getting more perplexed every second, the smoke suddenly cleared and the answer became obvious.

Invite the people you love, …. It was just that simple, until my doubting side countered. Hold on… what if I invite ten different people and they all say yes? Ten visitors in nine weeks equals chaos with not one minute to myself.

Invite the people you love, my inner voice repeated, and they will weed themselves out. They will search for reasons as to why it is impossible, moronic or undesirable. THEY will do it: you won’t have to.

So that is exactly what I did. I offered this opportunity to a few treasured people in my life; my children, some close girlfriends and a couple of men. I knew for a fact that they would not all indulge.

I submitted a beguiling scenario with joy, relish, and verve. What I was mostly repaid with, was skepticism, pessimism and doubt.

“Of course you’re hesitant,” I confirmed in respond to the dubious looks on their faces, “but just survey the amazing possibilities. I’m offering you a week’s vacation in the south of France with no strings attached. If anyone should be nervous, it’s me! I’m putting my job on hold and borrowing against my savings. I’m the one taking a risk, you’re going on Spring Break.”

But when I looked in their eyes, I understood their dilemma. They were grownups! And grownups have been taught to be responsible and level headed. Free spiritedness and spontaneity have been leached out of adults and replaced by guilt and fear. And because I had few Peter Pans in my entourage, these people, one at a time, (just as my epiphany had prophesied), began weeding themselves out.

I held no grudge, I simply became more in tune with my need to go. While my inner child was begging to be unleashed, she was also desirous of playmates. But I couldn’t egg them on, or shame them for their attitudes, I could only paint a pretty picture and make sure they saw the sincerity of my invitation. My two bedroom chateau was waiting, like a steamy cup of java, for cream and sugar. Once my people woke up and smelled the coffee, they would find their room and me, anticipating their arrival.

So although additional people were uncommitted at the moment, other puzzle pieces snapped together with precision.

The trip would commence on British Airways. Why you may ask? Simple! Less money, no layovers and complimentary wine! And since I love wine (I’m sure you’re aware of that by now) and rely on it to aid me with important decisions, I planned to drink gallons. My theory was that one could never start too soon, so an airline that offered it the moment you boarded, was right up my alley. I planned to refill my glass often as the scenery changed and the miles drifted away beneath me.

Suzanna and I together selected Barcelona as the port of entry since Madeline had informed me that car rentals in Spain were far more reasonable than in France. To save even more money, and fully comprehending that it had been over twenty years since I had driven one, I chose standard transmission over automatic. I was so confident that I would regain my skills, I hired this car for the entire length of my stay. I had places to go and wonderful things to see. My own transport opened me up to even more adventures as well as the ability to pilot myself back to Barcelona at the end of my journey.

The photograph in my head was now in the final process of being developed and I knew that the longer the film sat in the chemical bath, the clearer and more permanent the image would be.