Madame, Monsieur

It all started with Spain and Woody Allen. When Erik and I first arrived in Spain I was in total shock. It was the ideal country to start it. I knew a little Spanish and Erik knew a little Spanish so our combined forces equalled an easier transition into living life from a bag. I flew through the first few weeks of our trip in a shocked daze. One night in Madrid we watched Vicki Christina Barcelona by Woody Allen. The movie was great, and I remember laying there talking to Erik about how we would be in Barcelona one day. One day, so far off it was hard to imagine. One day, at the end of our trip, when the sun is shining and the month is May.. we too will be in Barcelona.

When it finally came time to leave Spain, we headed to Bordeaux, France. I was not quite use to, but in the process of acclimating to the Spanish language, when just like that... we were in France. Immediately all languages switched, and I heard 'Madame, Monsieur..' and I lost it! It was as if I decided I was ready and capable to understand where it was we truly were. WE WERE IN FRANCE.

I WAS IN FRANCE. I AM IN FRANCE!!!!!!!!

It was as if a truck load of awareness hit me in the face. The beautiful language, the way everything flew off their tongues like marmalade.. 'Madame, monsieur.'

Erik, listen! Listen to how beautiful it is, we are in FRANCE!!!!

For the following three weeks I was in absolute heaven. I adored everything about France. Their language, their music, their FOOD, their wine, the cut of their clothing, their pride for their history.. each day was better and more magical than the last. And every day, I would look to Erik and say 'Monsieurrrrrrr' with a big, pinch me smile and he would always turn back and say 'Madame'.

It became a game. We would use it like Marco-polo. In train stations, grocery stores, parking lots, and hostels. Why use each others name when you can use pretty French salutations?!

Even in our chilliest of days, when both our spirits were tested.. we would lean over to each other and say, 'It is okay Monsieur, one day we will be back' or 'Cheer up Madame, imagine the French Riviera!'


As I looked at the coast, mountains, and valleys my heart hurt. I knew that when I stepped on the train I would not be returning to France again on this trip. There would be no more next time. No more fresh croissants, no more little kids speaking in French, no more beautiful parks, no more macaroons. No more France. We are slowly but surely closing the doors to countries which have not only completely won me over, but helped restore my love for life.


Yesterday we were on our way to Barcelona. The unimaginable city that was to happen at the end of our journey. To happen when the sun was shining and the month was May. When so many days piled on top of each other that we would be in the place of Vicki Christina Barcelona. And I was not ready. Not even a bit. So when Erik leaned over and said, 'One last time. Madame?' I lost it. I had to hold my eyes so tight I thought they might never open. All I could mumble was, 'I can´t. I can't say it.' Erik, poor thing, had no idea what was about to happen, and said, 'Come on! You have to!.. It´s tradition... Madame?'

I opened my eyes. And the flood gates.


I blubbered, 'Monsieurrrrrrrr'. And was swept up in my own tears.