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“When Europe Hits You This Good, It's Never Over” - Alessandra Todd
Well, it’s over, but we’ll go back. It’s truly ended, yet it lingers on—our hearts are still entwined with that place, our spirits echo its culture, and our minds are woven with its experiences. Leaving really takes a village, and we felt it on our departure day. Ashley and I woke up early for my last Lobita coffee and to gather ingredients for jambon buerre for the flight. Riding along the Cotes, I felt so sad that this won't be my daily routine anymore. We loaded Luis's car with our 8 bags and 3 carry-ons. Bryan arrived and strapped the two board bags to his car. Then, in a three-car caravan, we headed to Biarritz airport. It was all hands on deck—everyone, even Frankie and Wyatt, helped carry bags to the counter. Bags checked, surfboards lugged to the oversized baggage area. Breathe. Butterflies in my stomach, knots in my throat—we are leaving.
The flight to Paris was quick since Stacey and Evie were on board, and Stacey and I chatted the whole time. But once we passed through immigration, we had to part ways. Thankfully, the goodbye was quick, as I was sad to see them go. Stacey reminded me that you know it was a special time when you're in tears at the end. True that. The flight to SFO was surprisingly quick. We all slept at some point and watched too many shows. Immigration was a breeze. The agent asked, "Where are you coming from? Do you live in France? Did you bring back anything?" I answered, "Tablecloths." "Did you bring back any sausage or food?" "Nope." And we were off to collect our luggage. Talk with me later about what goodies I DID bring back. We grabbed a cart and loaded it with all but two bags. Luke pulled the 33-kilo surf bag, Charlie pushed the cart, and I lugged two roller bags and Gabe's longboard. We managed, and when we got to the curb—Gabe! We were all so happy to be back together. I felt like I could breathe again. We embraced, and then I said, "You are back in charge," and cried in relief.
How does it feel to be home? The only word that keeps coming out of our mouths is "weird." After spending a year in France, everything feels different. We had some Mexican food at Mariscos Puerto Nuevo in Seaside, and we were gawking at the portion sizes. Welcome back to America. It's strange to be back in California. The familiar sights, sounds, and even portion sizes seem almost foreign after a year away. Adjusting back to life here feels surreal, and the word "weird" doesn't even begin to capture it. But as we settle in, we hold onto the hope of returning to the life we left behind while finding our way back into the rhythm of home.
Home. Well, we are home, but moving back in was less than easy. We needed to deep clean everything, and we are not even done yet, but at least we cleaned the bathrooms and kitchen. The painters will come on Monday to touch up the house and paint the boys' room completely. We unpacked bins, but I kept returning most of them to storage because of the many things I learned from this year—less is more. We don't need all of this stuff.
Anyway, we are now packing up again to go down to San Clemente for the week to visit and help Sheila. We'll continue settling in next week, visit with some friends, and get back into the Carmel Valley groove. "Am I happy to be back?" is the question everyone keeps asking. I keep finding myself with a frown, a shrug, and a "meh." For now, no, I am not happy to be back, but I know I need to keep seizing every moment no matter where I am.
