Roquebrun, The Parfait Day


It was the perfect break from our busy week.

The boys hung bug screen and fans, built shed bases, and concrete steps, while I spent the week cooking and cleaning after our company and kids. It was a rushed week, with sunburns and stroke that entitled us to a day off. Alfonz insisted. I obliged.

Sitting near the river, letting the kids splash and explore, we drink a few beers with a brown bagged lunch, and listen to the birds sing and the rushing rapids a few yards away.

We took turns napping, and watching the kids.

A well-deserved rest after our company from Hungary left, we mellow by the water’s edge.

My sunburn kept me in the shade for the day. It started to blister and peal and still was burning to the touch. On the verge of second degree, I applied Aloe Vera gel that saved me from hospital.

Everyone else bathed in the sun, splashed in the cool water, and enjoyed people watching the groups around us, in this hidden treasure location close to our home.

A beautiful old bridge stretched across the river Orb, and 100 metres above is the village of Roquebrun. I have written about this village before, and the unique spot keeps us coming back for short excursions.

Daniel brought his fishing gear, but the fish were in abundance and he needed only a net. He caught little minnow and showed us in turn. He grabbed Angelina’s hand and took her across the rapids towards the concrete escalate, a slippery up hill slope Daniel had braved. Wanting to show his sister, he tugged her along. She did very well keeping up to her brother, and I bit my lip and stood back watching Daniel protect his sister. Only once they had reached the fierce rapids did I interject his leadership and whistled for them to return.

They missed each other while Angelina was away at camp, and today they did not fight, instead bound, while exploring the rough waters the river Orb mustered.

They came back glowing with pride, as if they just crossed the Atlantic Ocean and discovered a new land.

— ———

Today I realized the journey of moving to France was not just miles long, but miles deep. I may not always like what I find during this journey to self discovery. As I shed layers of my former self, peeling off the layers of what people expected me to be back home, I find a quieter version of myself. A little bit shaky perhaps, like a toddler walking their first few steps, I am a little less protected from the cruel world. I find the safety needed in our new home, to be my true self.


I changed a few degrees. We are in fact better as ourselves then an imitation version of someone else. I feel more me in France than anywhere else in the whole world thus far, and feel the journey was worth ever obstacle to get here.


Not sure if many people who move great distances away from  the support they known experience the same transformation. There is something about stripping down to just you, no expectations around us, that gives us the fresh start that allows us to be ourselves.



That’s Hamori

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