The story really starts at the beginning of my time in Paris. Literally the first week. I was settling in to my new petit apartment, when the intercom went off in my room. Now I knew absolutely not a single soul in Paris so I was skeptical from the get go. There is no reason someone would want to speak to me. How do they even know I’m here. Am I being followed. This is exactly how “Taken” starts and that was in Paris too. I’m about to be taken. It’s happening.
Cue charming French man on the intercom, puhlease. If you’re going to take me you’re going to have to try harder than that ridiculously attractive French accent to get me to open the door. We couldn’t understand each other so I hung up the phone. You can never be too careful…. meaning I didn’t leave my apartment that day. Then comes the following day, I’d slept off my paranoia of being taken, and started my morning ritual of blogs and baguettes when the intercom went off again. Yeah well this is clearly it. They are annoyed that they couldn’t take me yesterday and now I’m about to be really taken. And they are going to be mad about it. Cue slightly aggressive sounding French madam on the intercom again, talking and talking without a word being understood. Knowing that there was now a gang of them after me I was scared, what are the odds of my doorbell being rung twice within a few days of me being there? Not. Good. Odds.
Skip 5 months later I somehow survived Paris and avoided being snatched by criminals and settled right back into home in Australia. Work started again and I returned home to find a slip detailing a package was waiting for me at the post office (isn’t forgetting what you ordered online the best thing when it finally arrives and you genuinely get surprised as to what it could be?) I picked up my package which was covered in French customs declarations and scribble and stamps from all over the world. Turns out Tim had tried to send me some Vegemite to help cure the homesickness when I first arrived. Those criminals hounding me at home…. yeah they were obviously the friendly postal staff of France just doing their job.
It took 5 months and a trip literally across the world, but I finally got my jar of Vegemite and the cutest little handwritten note in the package as well. It may have taken half a year and $27 in postage before returning to exactly where it started, but it made my day.