Part Two: Worst In The World.

The trip
CLARITY

We were going to the concert, we were going to see The Man! And back to France too! I couldn't believe it! Of all the places in the world, this man who made us dream for years and gave us all these wonderful characters that were now our men, had chosen my birth country to perform his unique European show! Only two years ago, I didn't even know who Russell Crowe was. And now, I was going to travel all the way back to my country to meet him... Well, meet him along with 600 other persons!

We had our tickets, we had our flights and hotel rooms booked. Once there, a friend of mine would lend us her car... a rather large one because it had been decided that we would pick up Kathy and John Nash at their hotel in Montpellier, at around 60 km (40 miles) from the place where my friends and relatives were living, and Gaia and Terry at the railway station of Avignon. We would then meet Tulip and Egan, who were coming by car, in Le Thor, and finally Angel, who was coming with Jack by sea, at the Woolloomooloo later in the evening.

John, like Terry, didn't get why Gaia wanted to travel through France by train, while it would have taken them around only one hour, to do it by plane, like we were going to do. But I did. I did understand why she wanted this. And I was not so surprised to see her win over a soft Terry who had very quickly understood that this trip was hers.

And that was the point. This trip was ours.

ANGEL

The night before our departure for France.  Not the most restful night I've ever experienced.  Part of it was worry that I would forget to pack something vitally important to our holiday.  This, in turn, seemed to transmit itself to the baby, who was more than usually active.

The following morning, Jack was up with the dawn chorus, already eager to be away and at sea.  I, however, could hardly drag myself out of bed. Even when the alarm clock blared into life, I merely cracked open one bleary eye, silenced the clock with a swipe at the Snooze button, and buried myself beneath the covers again. Jack, on the other hand, had a different idea entirely.

"Good God, are you going to stay in there all day? Come now, Angel, show a leg there!"

I poked a reluctant foot and ankle out from beneath the covers.  From my position I couldn't see Jack, but I could hear his snort of exasperation at my unwillingness to rush into the day.

"Just a few more minutes ..." I whined, but Jack is nothing if not single-minded when it comes to putting to sea, and before I'd closed my eyes again, I could hear him up in the attic. A couple of muffled thumps must have been our suitcases landing wherever Jack had thrown them, and the sound of something being dragged across the boards was undoubtedly Jack's sea-chest.

All chance of further peace and quiet shattered, I rolled awkwardly out of bed and stretched.  Although my due date was still several weeks away, I already felt huge, and my growing belly was beginning to play havoc with my balance. Not the best omen for several days' journey by sea!

The post arrived as I was in the kitchen, eating breakfast and trying to remember if there were any provisions left on the yacht from the previous trip.  The post was mainly bills and junk mail, but there was also a beautiful letter from Bou and Cort, thanking us for the gift we'd sent their baby daughter Faith.  I found myself quietly contemplating how our little extended "family" at the Pub was changing and growing...which was how Jack found me a little later.

"Come, come now...you can rest when you are aboard. Here are the bags; I want to be packed and ready to leave for the marina after luncheon." 

He hurried me through the leaving, chivvying me along in his eagerness to depart.  He paced impatiently as I dithered over what to wear and what to pack.  Experience has taught me well to pack light when travelling with Jack.

A few hours later, we were already at sea. The weather when we left was unseasonably fine and mild for the time of year, but as evening progressed, a front swept in, bringing with it rain and stronger winds.  Despite the rain and the choppiness of the water, Jack was hale and hearty at the helm. I was below, where Jack had sent me first to stow our few belongings, and later, to shelter from the weather.  Dinner had been a meagre, rushed affair: a sandwich and a mug of coffee quickly consumed on deck. 

I struggled with the incessant rolling and pitching, which threw me off-balance time and again.  At this rate, I would be covered with bruises by the time we reached France!  I had never previously suffered from seasickness when sailing with Jack, but the wild, inconsiderate movement of the ship made me sick to my stomach, and I had already heaved up the little I had eaten. Exhausted, dizzy, still nauseous, I stripped and all but crawled into bed.

Sleep was long in coming, and fitful.  In the wakeful times, I found myself thinking about our soon-to-be companions.  John Biebe was a gentle bear of a man, who thoroughly lived up to the nickname Clarity had given him: "nounours", meaning "teddy bear". John Nash and Terry Thorne both intimidated me, although for very different reasons.  Egan I hardly knew at all.  As for Clarity, Kathy, Gaia and Tulip, I realised I knew them each only a little, briefly from conversations in passing at the Pub. Tulip was, perhaps, the one I knew best - we had had a couple of long chats when Jack and Egan were not around.

TULIP

"Look Egan, look! How beautiful!"

I leaned over and pointed out to him the early morning mist, which seemed to enchant the landscape we were driving through. We had been on the road for about an hour and the sun just had risen. Corey, who was sitting on my lap, barked as if he would agree.

"Yes...very nice...but ...pleeeaaaase...take your arm out of my sight, will ya? There's another fucking road-work coming along."

He shut down the radio, which was blaring its comment too, by playing 'Highway to Hell' from AC/DC.

I took a long look at him. His jaw was clenched. He was grumpy since we left. He was not too happy that I had insisted on taking my car...

"I don't like that... little...ugly... thing."

"It is not little and I did not hear the part in which was the word ugly!"

"It is little, not a real car like mine and it is...ugly!"

"Yours is more a tractor than a car. It drinks gallons of fuel and has technical problems I've never heard of before!"

"That's because mine is a REAL car!"

"I won't put my suitcases on to the loading space of your pick-up! I don't want them to get lost on the road because of that loose shut it has...."

"Hey, you're talking of my baby here...and what do you mean...suitcase-s...? It's only a short trip, not even a week... so how many clothes ya goin' to need?"

Wrong question. 

Egan learned it the hard way, when I started to tell him precisely. 

I returned to that topic over and over again for days, still explaining it to him, when he finally agreed to take my car just to shut me up. 

"...and that is why women need all these clothes..." Throwing another pair of shoes into the trunk, and another pair and another pair... "...and this is only the short version, you do not know the details by now..."... throwing in another pair, just in case.

We crossed the frontier to France without any problems, which surprised me a bit, because they were stopping nearly every car in the queue and we had a dog on board and Egan looked like he was about to kill someone. But maybe it is true what they say about the French...that they've got a weak spot for women...I had my identity card in hand and a sweet smile on my face and we were waved through. Just like that. Welcome to France!

500 meters down the road I turned to Egan, that big smile still plastered over my face, and mentioned to him that the air smelled different already. He just gave me an odd look.

I still was insisting on the different smell when we stopped at the first 'péage' about 35 kilometers into France at Fontaine-Larivière and paid the first toll of that trip. (Yes, the French autobahn is not for free. You've got to pay to use it.) Egan cursed about the 2 Euros and 40 Cents. I just shrugged, yawned and then dozed off, as did Corey, who still was on my lap with his snout on my arm.

He snores. 

I swear! 

It was not me. 

It was him!

I missed Montbéliard and Besancon and the next péage at Dole (9 Euros 10 Cents).  Somewhere between there and Bourg-en-Bresse we made a short stop at the 'Aire du Poulet de Bresse' and I nearly doubled over when I woke up and found myself under a really huge steel chicken looming over the road-stop and parts of the freeway. I mean can you imagine that it was at least as huge as a building complex...with maybe seven or eight floors?  Egan just shrugged and told me, that it somehow reminded him of Oz.

"Ya know...they've got them at the oddest places down under...the world's biggest lobster or the world's biggest steam-iron... things like that..."

I shook my head at that and watched sleepily how Corey lifted his leg at the wheel of a Jaguar-Limousine until Egan whistled to get his attention and made him jump back into our car just with a short nod of his head.

KATHY

I am not a morning person; in fact I'm the biggest grump you can come across before ten in the morning, but the day we left for the trip I was up even before the alarm clock rang.

I shook John awake rather rudely but only got a grunt in response. I shook him again, but then I felt sorry and bent over him to nuzzle his stubble with my lips and to softly kiss him again and again. That worked. His eyes opened, a beautiful smile appeared on his that face that most of the time had such a serious look and I got one hell of a good morning kiss back. We shared another loaded look, our thoughts on what we would do this weekend once the lights in our hotel room were off.

At the airport we checked our luggage in. We still had about an hour to kill so we went to have an incredibly expensive and bad-tasting breakfast. Besides that, I love airports. John asked me about that and we just sat there and talked. I told him about "people watching" and taught him how to do it in a subtle way. Very soon we were both grinning and giggling, making up silly stories about the other travellers. After minutes John was already so good at it, I just loved his witty and wicked sense of humor and couldn't stop laughing. 

It was nice, no awkward silences so far, something I was scared would happen on this trip. Going for a vacation with someone you've just met could be tricky or so I've heard.

I reminded John to take the motion sickness pills. He pulled a face, told me he hated taking them, that he hated taking any kind of medication. "But I suppose swallowing these is better than emptying the contents of my stomach, consisting of that unacceptable breakfast we had, on you during the flight," he told me in a disgusted voice. I gave him a dry grin and thanked him for his thoughtfulness. He swallowed two of the little pink tablets; according to the package insert they should work their magic around 1 hour after taking them.

It was time for check-in and we walked to our gate, boarded, watched the flight attendants do their little ballet about safety on board of an air plane and held hands for take-off. The last part was something I rather liked. It was maybe ten minutes into the flight when John let go of my hand and started talking, "So Kathy, this.....(long pause) performer you women are going to see, what's his name again? (another long pause) - Russell Crowe, I really thought you'd have better taste in music."

I blinked and then my eyes turned to slits, so...we would have our first fight on the plane to France? Alright, no problem, if that's how he wanted it, I would think he'd have something else on his mind but ...fine. "Why? What is wrong with his music? Have you ever heard a song from his band?"

The corners of his mouth turned down -was that a "phhhht" I heard? - and he looked at me arrogantly. "As a matter of fact yes I have heard a song or two by him. I've heard that woman, Gaia, talk about Thorne singing in the shower. Apparently she is not very taken with the way her man sings, but I would think that even that sounds better than this guy. But Kathy, none of us are perfect and if this is your taste in music, it's okay, even if it leaves a lot be desired."

I gasped for breath. That snobby ....grrrrrrrr, I couldn't even think of a fitting word. And then I let him have it; told him about what a great singing voice Russell had; that his songs are written from his heart; that he is an amazing musician and that seeing him perform live in Chicago was probably the best thing that happened to me music-wise. He had the nerve to give me an indulging smile and then he looked out of the window and actually started to hum a bit.

I let out a huff and went to the bathroom. Snob!

When I came back a few minutes later I was still angry and my dear Professor was out like a light, softly snoring with his head leaning against the window. The flight attendant was just pulling a blanket over him, a first class blanket mind you, and I arrived just in time to see her stroke slowly over the non existing wrinkles. Slut!

I gave her a sweet smile and a shove, pretending that I'd lost my balance. She landed on the lap of that sweaty guy with the beer belly one row behind us. Another sweet smile and a "oh I'm so sorry!" combined with a do-not-touch-my-man-again look and I sat down.

I let my eyes wander over his sleeping form and forgot all about our argument. Damn he was a beautiful man. Relaxed in sleep he looked so young. His perfect shaped mouth was slightly open and out came that cute little snoring sound. I stroked his bangs out of his face and snuggled in. The flight attendant came back and handed me one of those thin, scratchy and much too small tourist class blankets with a mean little smile on her face. Making a show of crawling under John's and then spreading the second one over both of us I smiled back at her. And gave John a kiss on the neck. A long one. My sweet man murmured my name in his sleep and put his arm around me to pull me close. The smile on the little tramp's face froze and off she went.

My thoughts turned to meeting the others in France. I knew them all from the Pub of course, but had never really exchanged more than a few words with any of them. Angel and Jack seemed nice.  Angel a glowing mother-to-be and Jack...well he was easy-going and I like his loud laugh.  John Biebe...I lingered on the image of him with his long soft hair for a bit and then thought of him and Clarity. They looked pretty much like the perfect match; both very much in love with the other; both very friendly and easy to talk to. I counted on Jack and Biebe to make John forget his uneasiness with others.  Egan and Tulip; now these two I hardly knew at all. I didn't think I had ever talked to Egan, but he seemed to be one of those quiet men. He was gorgeous, so was Tulip and they seemed to be pretty smitten with each other.

Now, Terry and Gaia....Terry..... He was the one who told me about the Pub when I met him in a park one day, asking for directions to a museum. I had a crush on him from the first moment he opened his mouth to answer me, but he was a taken man. I saw that the first time I entered the Come On Inn; he was sharing a booth with a beautiful and sophisticated looking woman. It was in the weeks later, when I learned that Gaia was also rather nice, sincere and funny. I just hoped I could finish one sentence without blushing and stammering when I talked to Terry.

I settled in closer to John and yawning I laid my head on his chest. I was never able to sleep on planes, but a little rest would be nice. The last thing I noticed before I went off into dreamland was John murmuring "mhhhhmmm this 's nice."

CLARITY

A few days before the big day, I started to feel bad. I thought it was the excitement of the trip but, no. Or rather, not only. It was the flu. Oh well, great! Wonderful! Thank you very much. That's all I needed!

John was extra nice with me. He is the sweetest man of the world, doing all he could do and even more to make me feel better, to help me to go through this. Okay, sometimes, it was a little too much... Imagine that: you're all sweaty, grumpy, aching everywhere, in a very bad mood because you have so many things to do and you are too weak to do them, while the countdown is running faster and faster. And in front of you, you have a sweet smiling man running everywhere to satisfy each and every need you could have, including the ones you don't, but that he thinks you do or could do... isn't that annoying? I admit it did annoy me, every now and then... but how could you stay annoyed more than few seconds by someone so adorable, just because he is being... too perfect? I was obsessed by the trip. I had to get better before we went there. I couldn't let this spoil my fun. It just couldn't be. I willed myself to get better.

But, it didn't work. In spite of John's efforts and good care, the flu didn't release its grip on me. I even childishly hid my still high temperature from him, because I was afraid he could think about cancelling our trip. But I just forgot that this caring man is not my father. No more than I am his mother, like I told him before. He loves me, probably as much as I love him if it's possible, and he knew how important this trip was for me. Even if, like the other guys, he didn't really understand why we were getting so excited about travelling all this way to go and see someone looking merely like them and that we didn't even know, and, even more, to hear him sing, while we all know what a poor opinion they have about his singing. But I soon realized that my sweet man wouldn't have let me be disappointed and would have helped me to go there, even if he had to rent a medical plane to carry us there. Well, okay, maybe not that far...but, leave me my illusions, will you!

And the big day of our departure arrived at last! Or already. I was still ill, but didn't even want to mind it. If you don't mind it, it doesn't exist... well, yeah! I was so overexcited that I almost forgot the tickets my friend had sent to me. But it was without counting on my wonderful man who took things in hand. He had the tickets, the luggage and everything, even me, in hand. He said "Looks like you're going to meet a big star or something". Men! They had no idea! Something was happening to their women before their eyes, they could see it, and looked at it, amused, but apparently didn't really get it.

Our first flight was to London, to join Gaia and Terry. Then, we flew with them to Paris. John said he wanted to learn more French. I never really tried to teach him my native language before, but I was always surprised to notice how much he could understand and even sometimes use, from the little words or expressions that I let go out without even thinking, in our daily life.

We joked about that a few days before when I told him that, for me, all he needed to know in French was something he had to tell to each pretty girls coming too close to him while I was not here (if they did when I was here, I had in store for them some other words of my own that he didn't need to know!): "Je suis fiancé". Of course, I didn't fool him, mostly because that word is used in English too, I suppose, but probably not only. He plays the fool and tries to make everyone think that he's just a sweet dumb teddy bear. But he's far from being dumb. Too bad that, sometimes, even he doesn't believe that.

I wanted Gaia to keep him busy with her funny fake French lessons during the flight we shared, to keep his mind out of flying because I know he's always a little nervous about that. He sure didn't pick the right woman; I have made him travel probably more since we met than he had before, during his whole life. I did my best to keep his mind busy on other things during the first part of the flight, the longer one. I had to be inventive. Why... but NO, it's not what you think! Well, not exactly... okay, believe what you want, you wicked minds! Anyway, I managed to keep him rather relaxed during the flight, and that's all what counts to me.

So, while Gaia "taught" John these crazy lessons, "helped" by Terry (you can imagine how much he helped, his own way, I'd bet that poor John never had any chance to learn a single French word with these two), I could let it go and doze, overwhelmed by the fever that was getting the best of me now. I'm glad I'm tough or I would have never made it!

Arrived in Paris, I felt better. I was a little ashamed, as each time I've made the trip that way, to see how dirty this airport looked, compared to the foreign ones, and how unpleasant and unwelcoming some French people could be to foreign people.... not only foreign, but, just to other people. I think Gaia felt like me but didn't show it much, because I could see her nose wrinkle just once, in the ladies' restroom. Of course, she's more used to travel than me.

But, in spite of my worries, the men didn't seem to notice anything, joking together. It was funny to see them together. I was a little worried that Terry could take over John and make him feel even less worthy, because he seems to feel comfortable in his shoes while John is always trying to lessen his qualities, even if I think sometimes that he just does that to get compliments and extra cheering (which, of course, he gets any time). But no. Terry is a kind man, and he knows how to make people feel comfortable with him... when he wants to. I could feel that John was at ease with him and I felt relieved.

Part of the interests of this trip would be, for me, to spend a valuable time with our friends. Of course, we knew each other more or less well before. But I thought that this trip would make us even closer. I was close to Gaia; Uma encouraged us to meet at the beginning, because we were from the same country, but had never felt really at ease with Terry before. I admired him and, like John, I think, thought I was not worth his attention. Egan and Tulip, they were younger and we've shared some things before, horses with Egan, and Egan with Tulip... I mean Tulip talked to me about Egan, nothing else, heh! Angel and Jack, I liked them both very much too, but we seldom met at the pub together, unfortunately. Angel is the quiet kind, and Jack is always so busy. Besides, since that "charming contest".. I've been staying rather away from him, not wanting to remind anyone what happened... or not, between us. Kathy and John Nash were the ones I knew the less. We met a few times with Kathy at the pub before, and she looked to be a nice and friendly person. And with John too, but we never exchanged much more than polite words.

This weekend would be very interesting, I was sure!

GAIA

"Mesdames et Messieurs, en raison de la grève du personnel navigant, nous sommes au regret de vous informer que le wagon restaurant ne sera pas ouvert durant le trajet. Nous vous prions de bien vouloir nous en excuser et vous souhaitons un très agréable voyage... "

(Ladies and Gentlemen, due to the strike of the onboard catering staff, we regret to inform you that the restaurant car won't be open during the journey. We ask you to forgive us for the inconvenience and wish you a very pleasant trip.)

"Don't even say "I told you so" or this train will carry a dead body to Montpellier." Between gritted teeth I snapped at Terry who was close to laughing out loud. That wasn't funny at all. This trip was supposed to be a nice moment but the strike of the restaurant employees on the train that was an obstacle to the coffee I had craved since the moment we had landed on the French soil was the final straw of these past hours... We had waited 30 minutes only in line to get a taxi to get to the TGV railway station but there had been a traffic jam on the way so time was almost out and we had been close to missing the TGV...

The beginning of the trip had been a lot of fun though. Clarity and I were like two little girls, talking with effusion in a perfect Frenglish of the days to come, planning, scheming and laughing at the terrible face our men were making. While waiting for the boarding we were commenting the French press of the day and debating about the options the government had in a very delicate negotiations with the public service syndicates. The men had been drinking coffee and I must say that, taken in the discussion, I completely forgot to go to them and order my favourite brew.

Sitting inside the plane beside John had been a great moment. He (and Clarity) had requested me to give him French lessons in order not to be too lost in the Lubéron. I instantly knew it was an impossible task for him to learn anything more during the flight time than to say, "Bonjour, je m'appelle John et je suis Américain. Comment allez-vous?" Not that he was especially slow or anything. No. But even I have sometimes problem understanding the people living in this southern part of my country. They have this accent, you know, that deforms every, and I mean every, word known to French citizens. Take the word "pain". It's a very simple word. It means "bread". They don't say it like the other 99% of the population. No. They have to deform it to "peng". You think I'm exaggerating? Let me tell you...it's so obvious you've never been there...

So, I had thought a little bit about the basis John had to learn in such a small amount of time and the only notions he had to be acquainted with the most important thing in France: food. If he was able to read through a menu in a restaurant and order the exact thing he wanted, he would then avoid the main reef for any tourists of any nation: make of the waiter his personal and forever enemy. How many tourists, so enthusiastic about eating their first meal in a Parisian bistro, were finding impossible to eat what they had ordered? You would think that the wiser ones were the ones saying "Waiter? What is this? I'm sorry but I never, ever, believe me, ordered such a disgusting thing." Let me tell you this: no. Not wise at all. And so then their mortal enemy would smile of his best and shiny smile and answer: "Oh. I am so sorry, Sir. Let me change it right away". The waiter would come back with a plate of spaghetti and tomato sauce. Something you can eat even in the middle of the Mongolian desert. And so the tourist would be so disappointed by this first contact with the French people that the memory of his stay would be forever tainted with the deception of having made a serious mistake without even knowing what he could do not to fall for it all over again.

John was listening to me intently as I tried to explain what food he should be avoiding like the plague: the offal. "You'll never get over the sight or the taste... so it's a firm no-go. Do you understand?" He sweetly smiled at me and took the list I had written on a small napkin found inside my bag. My mission was beginning and there were so many things I still had to tell him before the landing of the plane!

"Never...ever ask for ketchup in a French restaurant. Even for French fries. In last resort, ask for mayonnaise. Never ever ask for a doggie bag, it's rude. Even if it's true that you paid for the food, it's very rude here to ask that. No, it's not rude, it's an insult." I saw him write the words "ketchup" and "doggie bag" on his napkin and then firmly cross them out with his pen. I giggled and put my hand on his arm that laid on the armrest beside me.

"You've got a point, John....I got the message. No more patronizing... I promise". At the end of my sentence I saw Terry shaking his head in disbelief on the front seat. "What!" I asked my lover who had been listening to me the last quarter of hour.

"He's not dumb, Gaia. He knows how to behave and he won't offend anyone because he ate chicken with his fingers."

"OK, ok. You boys think you know all the subtleties of the French food but mark my word: one of you will drop a brick in a restaurant before this trip is over..." Turning toward the window, I made a point showing them my back. A soft chuckle told me that John had found my remark quite funny and that made me pout further more. Of course, when you pout you have to do it properly. So when the stewardess came offering coffee from the pot, I didn't even bother answering. My greatest mistake of that trip, if you want my opinion. This small event would turn to be the major cause of the crisis to come between Terry and me, and of one unexpected experience.

When John finally thought it was a shame to waste my extensive knowledge of the French language furthermore, he leaned and put his hand on my shoulder in an appeasing gesture. The whispered words into my ear drew a tender smile on my face. "Teach me words of love. Tender and irresistible words of love for my beloved". That, I definitely could. The rest of the flight was spent whispering tender words to each other. John was telling me the words in English and then I would translate them and he would learn them phonetically. He surprised me several times by the quickness with which he got them and how easily he remembered them even an hour after. We would laugh at certain of his expressions and he would make me swear (spit on the floor, a cross on the heart) that I would never reveal them to anyone. Which I did. You know me, I always keep my promises. Terry was sometimes mumbling, sometimes snorting when he would catch the meaning of some of our sentences, but we decided to ignore him.

When we parted, I told John to immediately start practising on Clarity. John winked at me and his lopsided grin informed me that he would be keeping that lesson for other moments of intimacy. I couldn't blame him. Some of his expressions were quite... graphic to say the least!

ANGEL

When I went on deck the following morning, we were moored in a lively harbour, and Jack was nowhere to be seen.  As I looked around, trying to find out where we were, and more importantly, where Jack was, I heard him hailing me loudly from somewhere close by.

"Angel...!"

I turned around to see Jack waving at me from the deck of a nearby boat. He shook hands with the boat's owner, jumped the short distance from the boat to the quayside and strode back to the Gypsy whistling.

"A capital fellow," he beamed as he came aboard.  "Got himself in a spot of bother with fishing line snarled around his tiller and needed an extra pair of hands to set all right."

"But where are we?"

"Cork, on the south-east coast of Ireland.  We arrived just before dawn."

To be truthful, I was dismayed.  I'd thought that we would make much swifter progress.

"But I thought we were heading south...?"

"And indeed we shall.  Do you not see, my dear, that if we leave on the next tide we can pick up the prevailing wind south, cross the Bay of Biscay and make port next in Portugal?"  Here Jack broke off into noisy, red-faced mirth. 

"Make port in Portugal! D'ye smoke that, Angel? Ha ha ha!  From there we shall head south, rounding Cape Trafalgar, through the Gut, perhaps putting into Gibraltar itself, and from thence into the Mediterranean, via Mahon, to Marseilles."

Seeing my bemused expression, he added, "But perhaps it might be clearer if I showed you on the charts..."

"Can't it wait? I'd rather stay up here."

That made Jack pause, and turn to look at me searchingly.

"You do look a little pale," he conceded. "No doubt you found last night's crossing a trifle uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable? I was sick most of the night."

"Quite so, quite so.  Then of course you must stay on deck.  Fresh air is the very thing to put colour back in your cheeks." A pause; then he added, "I have some items of business to transact ashore. However, they should take no more than an hour or two, and then I believe we may perhaps spend the remainder of the day at our leisure."

Jack was true to his word. Little more than an hour later, I spotted him making his way back along the quay.  Jack had berthed us at the furthermost extremity of the harbour, and his return to the Gypsy was slow as he paused to exchange greetings with fellow sailing yacht owners.  As he drew nearer, I noticed that his expression was grave and thoughtful. 

"It appears we will have to leave earlier than I had anticipated," he said without preamble as he stepped aboard.  "The latest forecast predicts heavy weather likely to keep us trapped here for some days.  I am sorry you will have to endure another hurried evening departure, my little dear, but we cannot lose even this one night."

"Oh no..." I sighed.  Jack pressed a small paper bag bearing a well-known pharmacy logo into my hands.

"The apothecary assured me that these are just the ticket for seasickness in your condition."

I opened the bag.  Inside was a pair of acupressure wristbands! 

I was glad of Jack's gift as we progressed southward into the Atlantic, skirting the Bay of Biscay (or so Jack told me).  While Jack assured me it was nothing more than "normal weather for the time of year", to me it felt like we were rounding the Horn.  Jack, having seen the bruises that had developed after our first night at sea, now insisted I spend as much time as possible above decks.

We put into Lisbon one morning around two days later, following an unprecedented run south that had seen Jack push the Gypsy almost to her limit.  He was already up and about when I woke - I could hear the shower running, and Jack's powerful bass voice bellowing a song that could probably be heard all over the harbour:

"...You ladies of lubricity
That dwell in the bordello
Ha-ha ha-ha, ha-ha ha-hee
For I am that kind of fellow..."

I lazed in bed a while longer, only finally stirring when I heard Jack finish his song and turn off the shower.  He wandered back into the cabin, stark naked and vigorously rubbing his hair dry, just as I was levering myself out of bed.  He dropped the towel and took my hand, and wrapped his other arm around me to draw me upright, pulling me close against him.  His skin smelled faintly of menthol and mint soap, underscored by an indefinable essence I can only describe as "Jack".  He let go of my hand, and stroked up my bare arm, his roughened hand leaving goosebumps in its wake; his lips tasted mine.

"Beautiful ..." I heard him murmur, before his lips claimed mine again.

He began to rub the small of my back in slow, tender circles.  I arched against him, leaning in as far as my gravid belly would allow.  Jack held me to him easily with one hand, the other free to roam over my body: across my collarbone and down my arm to raise my hand to his lips for a tender kiss; over my hip to stroke and knead my buttocks; across my belly to milk-engorged breasts. These were Jack's delight, and he could scarcely keep his eyes or hands from them.  He captured one breast, stroking back and forth across the swollen nipple until I was moaning with need, and frustration at my inability to press closer against him.

He turned me round and drew me back against him.  Now I could feel him against me from shoulder to thigh, his growing erection pressing against my backside.  His fingers resumed their exploration of my breasts. His mouth trailed hot, wet kisses down my throat to the sensitive spot at the juncture of throat and shoulder. I whimpered.

Jack's hands stilled on my body; his lips halted their slow caress of my throat.  I felt suddenly bereft at their absence.  His breath was ragged against my ear as he sought control.

"Angel..." His voice was almost steady.  "I should not have - "

"Want you."  I grabbed his hand and guided it back to my breast.

"Wanton," he groaned.

"Hormones."

"Aye, she does," he chuckled.

"Jack!"

TULIP

I dozed on and off during the next 100 kilometers or so, I even overslept the stop at another péage at Beynost (12 Euros 70 Cents) and I suppose that Egan was glad about that...seems like somehow he knew that I would drive him crazy once we got near to Lyon...

When he mumbled something of getting close to said city I got startled. 

"Lyon already? Oh my god!"

I rustled through tons of different road-planner-print outs and the more I looked at them the more they confused me. I told him time after time that my colleagues advised me for heavens sake not to get lost around or even worse IN Lyon, 'cause we would never find out again.

And of course then we'd never make it in time to the hotel of John and Kathy in Le Thor, where we were supposed to meet the others at 17.00; right then it was about 14.30. But Egan stayed cool as usual.

"So which exit is it now, Tuli? They've got numbers on it, just tell me which, 'cause ahead there's one exit for Marseille and that is the general direction we should head for."

"Take it! Marseille is good! Wait! Numbers you said? What numbers?"

"Tuli, we're coming close to the exit."

"Did you see the last sign?"

"1500 meters..."

"Which numbers are you talking about?"

"1000 meters...THAT ONE!" he pointed on some sign on the card.

"Ahh! That's what you meant! Just a second, I'll get my route-plan...but which?"

"750 meters, Tulip. Tell me now!"

"Marseille is good."

He drove over onto the very right line.

"500 meters...you sure this is the right exit?"

"Was Saint-Exupéry on the last sign?"

"300 meters...Damn it Tulip, which one is it?"

"Oh shit! Wait! It is the exit 'Rocade Est'; you need to keep half left and then follow the signs to the N 346..."

"Damn it!"

He screeched back on to the freeway. Loud honking welcomed us back there.

"Egan! What are you doing? You plan on killing us?"

"Give me this!" He snapped one print out off my hands.

After that we just drove around Lyon on 'route nationale' (N 346) without any problems and then entered the A7, the 'Autoroute du soleil', the freeway of the sun, the autobahn to the south...

KATHY

We arrived at Montpellier airport at around five in the afternoon. We would stay there the first night. Clarity and John had offered to pick us up at our hotel the next day and after we picked up Gaia and Terry at the train station in Avignon we would all drive to Le Thor. There John and I would stay in a nice little hotel, while the others had rented rooms in a nearby village. Our further plans involved a dinner for us women at a bar in Avignon and well, the guys would have to make their own plans. Sounded like a perfect plan to me.

John had obviously forgotten what we'd talked about before the pills made him fall asleep and I was in too good of a mood to hold the grudge I had earlier. We hailed a taxi and I told the driver the name of the hotel. He looked at me, shook his head and started talking in French. Neither of us understood one word and I asked him if he spoke English or German, but of course most people in France don't so he shook his head. I tried to tell him the name of the hotel again and the street where it was located.  He shook his head and then John tried it. With no success. I finally ran to the back of the car, pulled out my suitcase and handed him the validation of our room reservation. The guy looked at me and said "Aaaahhhh 'otel Ulysee", exactly in the same way that John and I had said it. Go figure.

We were quiet on the way to the city. John had taken my hand in his again and gave it a squeeze now and then, while we looked out of the car windows at the landscape and at least at the city of Montpellier. It was dark but some of the buildings were flooded by lights and it looked like a nice town. So different from what we saw every day at home. It was still warm too, even though it was almost 7.30 PM when we arrived at the hotel. John paid the driver; I talked him into giving him a tip despite the kind of reckless driving most of the way.

The weird thing was that my stomach had started to grumble a while back and it hadn't gotten any better in the car.   I decided not to tell John about it, maybe I was just hungry.

We checked in a beautifully decorated hotel room. Small but comfy and clean with a large bed in the centre of the room. John wriggled his eyebrows and I gave him a shy smile. He got this serious intense look again and mumbling "C'mere" he pulled me into a hug.

"Kathy, I am so happy to be here with you. Whatever happens here, will happen because we both want it, okay? No pressure."

I sighed and nodded, "John, I was thinking...maybe not tonight, huh? I mean, I want to but...I'm hungry and I need a shower and...and..."

"Shhhhh, it's okay. I don't know whether I'll be able to sleep in this condition", with that he motioned to his pants where I could clearly see a tent forming, "but maybe I'll take a shower too. A cold one." He gave me a smile that came out a bit tortured.

I felt bad, I didn't even know why I made him wait even longer. This night just didn't feel right. I tried to explain, "Thank you. John I ...I...don't want to tease you or something. It's just, with the time difference, this long day, all the excitement about the trip, me being hungry and feeling grimy and exhausted...I just want it to be perfect. Not something we finally want to get over with. Are you mad at me?"

He shook his head and again, a tender smile on his lips. A real one this time. He kissed my forehead and said, "No, I'm not mad. Thinking about it, you are right. Let's head out, find a place where we can have dinner, take a quick walk around the neighborhood and then let's come back here. We can shower and then retire early. How does that sound? It was indeed a long day and tomorrow will be another one. And on Saturday you will see this....this...." One look at my frown, he hastened to finish, "this singer perform his show."

We did as he suggested and at nine sharp we were lying in bed, kissing softly, stroking each other's arms and faces, but before it got too much John bent over and shut the light of the little lamp on the bed stand.

"John?"

"Mmmmhhmm?"

"Thanks. You are an amazing man and I just want you to know that I have big plans on rewarding your patience."

A soft laugh, a kiss and then "I'm very much looking forward to that."

GAIA

Terry and I were about to start what I had called the "Pilgrimage" aka the final part of the trip toward Avignon. So, here we were, sitting in the second class of the high speed train, my nerves getting on his. He wasn't uttering a word but the way he was moving his legs in the space between his seat and the front seat's pull-out flap showed me that he was under stress. It was more than narrow for him (but not for me...). Ok, I had forgotten the way the French railway company chose make profit: by putting a maximum of seats in a minimum of space. So what? Sue me. He was uncomfortable and thought he was subtle enough not to show it. Or he just wanted me to apologize for my mistake, which I wouldn't have done for all the Aubade stock in the world.

Of course that tension between us raised one level more when I pulled out the meal I had bought for us: a salad, ham sandwiches lovingly homemade. The only problem: there was no butter in them (guess who had forgotten to buy a new one after it had been finished?) and the "cornichons" in them had seen better day. Apparently pickles don't like travelling. Do know that they become limp and tasteless. You will then avoid the same mistake I did and I will know that fact for another trip. If Terry and I would survive this present trip that is... It is the orange juice that did him. He threw me a glance, grabbed a little too harshly to my taste the juice and started to chew his meal while faking interest in the landscape unrolling outside the window.

"There isn't just one way to travel, you know," I told to his back. "Meaning it shouldn't always be the most expensive one. We can do it with less comfort, can't we? Let's do as if we were students." I took his arm and leaned to kiss his cheek. "You know...a long time ago... when you had long hair and your testosterone level was matching the alcohol rate in your blood..." I tried to reason him.

"I remember it too much to my liking, Gaia. What kind of a romantic notion do you have to think that the less expensive way to travel has something more that the fastest and the more comfortable one? There's something dubious in your mind to take any pleasure of arriving at the end of your trip tired, hungry, your clothes completely creased and finally a broken back from the poor quality of the seats you've been crumpled into for hours. Without speaking of the loos' cleanness. God, have you seen it? No. Sorry. There's definitely nothing romantic in that." His finger was pointed accusingly toward me and then his eyes lost the focus on me to watch something outside the window behind me. "I need a fag".

I turned. The train had stopped at Lyon Part-Dieu; several people I could recognize from travelling in our car were on the platform, smoking like lunatics their cigarette before the train would leave the station and head further south.

"What...you mean....?"

A second later he was jumping athletically over my knees and headed straight to the train doors. The moment I saw him on the platform he already had lightened a cigarette and was dragging on it like the other lunatics. I saw him exchange knowing nods with some of the addicted of the platform. A wave of disappointment run through me: what a disaster! It was supposed to be moment out of time, spend together, no rush, no pressure and I had ruined it authoritatively. It couldn't go more wrongly.

A magazine between the hands, I feigned total indifference each time he would turn and look my way, his cigarette between his lips. But the fact was: I was scared. What would happen if the train left without him? Our week-end would be definitely over. I couldn't think about anything else, my mind working overtime, my heart racing and my breathing ragged. A few minutes after, when the whistle of departure blew, I watched him gently stroll toward the doors as if he had all the time of the world when all the other lunatics had already been inside for, what it seemed to me, a long moment. He even managed to be brushed by the automatic door. The smug grin plastered on his face when he came to sit by me gave me the information, if needed, that he was pretty pleased with himself.

Without the caffeine kick that the so wanted black brew would have given me coupled with the lulling of the train and the meal's digestion, my eyes started to close and my head roll on the side of the headrest. Terry woke me up in Valence, the next train station, when he, none too subtly, passed over me to go out and light his cigarette. I took his seat by the window and waited until he came back at his place to finally allow the tiredness to claim me again. I slept on and off for a few minutes and then felt much better to face the rest of the trip which was going to be longer than expected but for a totally unexpected reason...and independent from my will.

The TGV are special trains that require seat reservations. It was a very difficult game for the people, who unlike wise travellers hadn't been able to reserve their seats. They would try to sit until someone with their ticket in one hand and a luggage they were trying to drag in the narrow train corridor would come to them and say: "I'm sorry but this is my seat." The "unwise traveller" would then move to the next available seat, if there was any, praying that this time it would stay free at least until the next stop. Which was rarely the case and most of the time those "unwise travellers" would definitely move in the noisiest part of the car, between the toilets and the doors. Which I had done several times and was nice when you were with a bunch of friends, sitting on your luggage and sharing food, songs and reinventing the world. But alone or with a family, let me tell you that it was hell on earth.

While remembering some of my most tender travelling experiences in Europe during summertime, I hadn't noticed that a bunch of army men in uniform had taken the rare free seats or were trying to keep their legs from being kicked each time someone would open the toilets door. It is only when, during his now traditional cigarette on the platform, that I noticed Terry talking to a young man who must have been in his early twenties and had a green beret screwed on short cut black hair. Terry and the man didn't seem to talk much like girls might do if they found common points during a long (and boring) trip. One would open his mouth, articulate one or two words and the other one would nod and add one or two syllables. A long silence and then one or two words, a nod. They weren't very exuberant to say the least. The only movements were their hand going with the cigarette to their mouth and then the lips would move for 6 seconds tops and then the almost imperceptible shake of the head. That amazed me. They seemed to communicate though. Maybe even better than me when I'm talking effusively with any of my friends. Everything in me moves: the hands, head, eyes, feet and torso. Those two men, although they had nothing in common physically, seemed in total unison. Connected.

The moment Terry came back to his seat, I literally jumped on him and pressed him to talk about this man, who he was, where he was going and what they said to each other. The man in question strolled back to his seat at the other end of the car. Perfect, he wouldn't hear us... I thought that talking about that mysterious army man would be the best way to fight the boredom that was threatening to swallow us (me in fact) and possibly a neutral theme of discussion that would certainly not lead us toward another fight. The cold look Terry threw me after my request gave me the clear information that he would talk...only under torture. Once a SAS, always a SAS. God.... Well, I've never been trained the way he had been. That's a fact. But I do know perfectly how to break a man. Women are born with weapons that men, although they say they know of them, only seem to remember their deadly power of destruction when already it's too late and that their fate is sealed. My delicate tactic didn't work on him very well this time, I must admit. He was the first of the lunatics waiting at the door for the train to stop in Montélimar. Less than 2 seconds after the total stop of the train he was leaning on a wall, talking to a punkette whose hands were shaking from the lack of nicotine when Terry lit her cigarette. He was bored to death, disappointed with this trip and maybe he even hated me for trying to poison him with homemade sandwiches...

In the corner of my eyes, I saw the army man run toward the door at the platform chief whistling, duck a traveller before jumping into the car. My heart lurched when I noticed that he had been the last one to enter the train before it took off. Slightly rising from my seat, I tried to locate Terry at the opposite doors. The small hall was empty, everybody having gone to their own seats. Maybe Terry had entered the train in another car and was right now walking toward our place?

Yes. That was the only solution.

After a few minutes of feeling my heart inside my mouth, I had to accept the inevitable: the train had left without him. The next thing I knew is that my cell phone was on my ear.  Terry's cell phone rang beside me. He had left his jacket and his wallet was in the inside pocket...

That was it! He was all alone on that damn Montélimar platform. No possibility to be reached and no money to be able to buy a ticket and get in the next train to Avignon. The week-end was over for us (for me...yeah...I know...I'm so egotistic! So, sue me). I had miserably failed. It was my fault entirely.

ANGEL

In contrast with the early part of our journey, the sail from Lisbon to Gibraltar was a relatively unhindered one: blue-water sailing with the wind at our back - the kind Jack loves best.  We dropped anchor off the coast - Jack explained that there was little need for us to put into port again so soon.  We had spent the whole day in Lisbon, ample time in which to stock up on fresh produce and take on water.

Away from the Atlantic, and sheltered by the Rock, the weather in the Mediterranean was more like that of summer than October.  As we rode at anchor, Jack took the opportunity to examine the Gypsy's hull below the waterline, which he could not do in the Atlantic's far colder waters, while I watched enviously as he swam and dived, his golden hair loose and streaming out behind him.  I longed to join him in the water, to feel the strain on my body ease for a while, but Jack was adamant.  It was too risky, he said; I would surely catch a chill, or worse.  No amount of wheedling or flirtation will shake Jack's resolve once his mind is made up, so I had to content myself with merely sitting in the sun on the relative safety of the deck.

Jack had planned one final halt on our voyage: the port of Mahon on Menorca.  It was, I knew, a place of great significance for Jack.  Not only was it the place where he was stationed when he received his first command, the Sophie, it was also where he and Stephen had first met, at a concert at the Governor's mansion one balmy April evening in the year 1800.  It was not an auspicious first meeting, it's true - Stephen, irritated by Jack's habit of beating time to the music (He still does, and it still is irritating!),  had nudged him in the ribs, which almost led to them meeting on the duelling ground!

To my untrained eyes, Mahon, with its pretty Georgian buildings, looked little changed from how I thought it must have looked in Jack's day.  As we sailed into the harbour, Jack pointed out some of the places and buildings he recognised.

"There's Cape Mola ... and the quarantine island ..."

"You see that red villa on the cliff top to larboard, Angel?  ... No, t'other way ... to larboard ... That's the Admiral's House ... Collingwood lived there ...

And so it continued, until we reached the very heart of the harbour, where Jack found us a convenient mooring.  The feeling of changelessness persisted after we disembarked, despite the cleanliness and the ever-present scooters zipping through the streets.

Yet not everything had remained the same.  Although the Pigtail Stairs still wound up from the harbour to the old town, the Crown Inn, where Jack had stayed as an impoverished Lieutenant, was now a private house.

Jack declared that we were making sufficiently good time to be able to overnight in Mahon.  We spent the morning roaming the streets of the town, with Jack pointing out the buildings and places he recognised.  It was a magical history tour that reminded me of the first weekend we spent together, in London last year.  I would have liked to have spent more time sightseeing, but I tired easily these days, and the midday heat felt oppressive after so many days of cool sea breezes.

"Jack, I need to sit down," I gasped.  I felt dizzy and light-headed.

Jack sat me down right there, at the roadside, soaked his handkerchief in water and wiped my face and neck.   He made me drink deep from the bottle of water I carried, and refused to move until he felt reassured that I had recovered.

We ambled back to the Gypsy in comfortable silence.  Once on board, Jack carried me down into the cabin, where he laid me on the bed and removed my shoes.

"I've spoiled our day," I sighed.

"Not at all.  We have seen almost all there is to see."

"I was so hoping we would find Joselito's..."

"And so we shall, but not this trip.  Now rest."

I closed my eyes, heard the cabin door click shut and moments later the pianissimo whisper of Jack's violin.

KATHY

The next morning I awoke in a good mood. I opened my eyes, but the other side of the bed was empty. I checked my watch; nine o'clock. I had slept twelve full hours. But where was John? I called out his name, but didn't get an answer. Weird. Was he already having breakfast? Without me?

My heart sank. Maybe he was mad at me for making him wait so long anyway? I got up and checked the bathroom; nothing. Then I heard a car drive by on the street below our room and I saw the door to the balcony was open. I walked over there and saw John out there, his back to the room and already dressed for the day.

"Hey there you are. I was looking for you. Watcha doing? Enjoying the warm morning air?" He didn't turn around when I stepped out, in my t-shirt and panties.

"John?"

Crossing the few steps over to him I stood next to him and looked at his face. He was completely zoned out, staring at and not seeing the beautiful area surrounding the hotel.

He didn't even notice me. I watched as a concentrated look washed over his face and his lips moved soundlessly.

I knew that he had times where he blanked out life around him, but that usually happened when he worked on some solution to a mathematical problem. I put my hand on his arm and quietly said his name again.

"John, hey, hey baby? Something wrong?" This did the trick; he shook his head hard, blinked, looked at me and then at our surroundings.

"What?"

"You were totally zoned out. I asked you if something was wrong? What did you think about?"

"Oh? Really? I...." his hand was nervously drawing patterns in the air "I...ah..no...no problem, I just", a quick stroke with the same hand over his face, "I'm fine. I just remembered something I have to do when we're at home. Something...uh...work related. Let's go and have breakfast."

With that he walked abruptly back into our room.  "Are you coming?"

I shook my head and followed him. "John? I'll have to get dressed first, or do you want me to go like this?" I pointed to my bare legs. "And a very good morning to you to by the way. Yes, I slept just nicely. Hope you did too."

I opened my suitcase and searched for something to wear, when I felt his arms come around me from behind.

"I'm sorry. You know how I get sometimes. Good morning."

I relaxed against him and put my arms over his. He sniffed my hair and rubbed his chin over my neck; god that felt so good.

"I slept very well too, thanks to the beautiful woman in my arms."

I chuckled, "What am I going to do with you?"

He turned me around, "How 'bout giving me a kiss, Miss Ginger?"

How could I resist?

When we parted he kept his mouth very close to mine and whispered, "What in the world were you thinking prancing around out on the balcony half naked, for everyone to see? You know what they say about French men and their love of women. Thank god it's a workday over here or else we'd have had quite a crowd down on the street."

Laughing I wriggled out of his arms; he was just too much. I showered, got dressed and after croissants, café au lait, cheese and other good food we went off to explore the town.

TULIP

The moment we hit the autobahn again, the whole landscape had changed its face in an instant. It was definitely a bit rougher now and the beauty of it was stunning. We were driving next to the Rhône and I pointed out again things to Egan. 

"Look, Egan, look at these rock faces...look at this villa hugging to the rocks...and that one...god...they are so beautiful...you think they could fall down on us? ...How do they stay up there...? And there are these interesting trees...and all these stones in the water... Egan...are you looking?

Instead of looking at the river Egan took a quick look at me, shaking his head about my exuberant bubbling. I kissed him on the cheek and went on.

"Ain't this overwhelming? God, how much the landscape changed since the frontier... since after the Burgundery and Jura...it is so beautiful suddenly...not that it wasn't beautiful before...but..."

I sighed and a dreamy look appeared on my face.

"You were asleep until we arrived at the outer skirts of Lyon...Sweetheart."

We crossed the Rhône several times on bridges that where built rather low over the water level. Although it for sure was some meters between the river and me I had the impression I could touch it by leaning out of the car window just a tiny bit.

Shortly after Vienne the autobahn and the Rhône separated and I craned my neck to see its glittering surface a bit longer. Egan threw me again another odd look.

"One could imagine you never saw a river before...Tuli...should I be worried?"

I was relieved when the water came in sight again only about 50 kilometers later.  Egan rolled his eyes at my delighted squeal. When Corey joined me by starting to yip, he got one of Egan's odd looks too.

"What's gotten into ya, mate? Did she infect you somehow?"

Corey was not impressed at all by him and when I began to wind down the window, he barked shortly and stuck his snout out into the open, obviously enjoying the warmer air rustling up his pelt.

"See Egan? Even Corey seems to love it...and now take a deep breath and start enjoying it...err...huh?...your...self...what the heck...?"

Egan's eyes followed my line of sight. 

"Oh. Now that is not that beautiful, eh?"

We had surrounded another bend and right there in front of us, snuggling itself in between the river and the rocks, looking like some alien formation in this landscape, there was a monumental ugliness...a gigantic nuclear reactor.

"Jesus Christ!"

"No Tulip, it is just a power station, come on...you can shut your mouth again now."

I did as I was told...later...lots of kilometers down the road, only to leave it hanging open being stunned again when we crossed the so-called 'porte du soleil' or was it called the 'porte du sud'? Imagine that, driving on the 'road of the sun' and then crossing the 'gate of the sun'...

The actual memorial, of course with its own 'aire', was somehow disappointing...it was a small, small, probably concrete arrangement of some circles being intricate into each other. We didn't even bother to stop there.

But the real 'porte du soleil' was impressive. Two mountains touching each other and the freeway winding its way exactly through the center, where they meet. The sun seemed to hide behind the peaks of them, shining around the brinks here and there, luring us to cross...luring us to come to wonderland.

Even Egan was speechless after we crossed that gate.

From one moment to another the whole surrounding changed ...again. This time it was 'really in an instant', as Egan told me later and this time it was the difference between northern Europe and the Mediterranean part of it. We were in the south suddenly.

There where not that much trees anymore but some occasional stone pines. The landscape got more harsh and lovely at the same time. The light was completely different...somehow more clear and warm...it made the earth seem to glow...

Did I mention already that the three of us were stunned?

"...Wow...1"

"...Whoa...1"

"...yip, yip, yip!"

I decided it was about time to roll down that window again.

And in came this special scent. 

Of course there still was the scent of the road. Emissions, tar... but it was different now... more...dry? Perfumed in a way, probably with the last remains of the lavender, a bit of rosemary and...olive oil. It smelled like some of these very expensive soaps ...like the most wonderful smell of fresh washed linen, which ever crossed my nose.

I sighed happily, and leaned back, letting the breath of the south caress my face. I felt like I was arriving in the middle of summer although it was the middle of October.  Egan coughed occasionally to let me know that for him it was still October and cold... but soon got enchanted himself.

GAIA

My eyes strained toward the emergency handle that would immediately have an action on the brakes and stop the train. It was written: in case of emergency only. What the hell: it WAS a fucking emergency! To my greatest shock, my hand was stopped before I could pull the handle. A large hand gripped my fingers and moved them away from my last hope to get Terry back to me safely.

"Don't do it!"

For a split second I closed my eyes and wished it was Terry. But it wasn't. And I perfectly knew it. But I wanted to cling a few more seconds to that thought. This hand had gun grease around and under its nails which were very short because its owner was certainly biting them... However, my surprise was total when I turned to face the man: it was the mysterious military man Terry had been speaking with. Blinking, I babbled "You?"

He nodded. I finally noticed that he was standing a little too close to me: I could smell how the washing powder odour wasn't quite hiding the gun grease's on his uniform. His hand was still holding mine and when I tried to remove it he waited a second too long before letting it go. He looked...amused...

"No good. Trouble." He smiled and I discovered a rank of teeth that showed how little he seemed to care for dental care... His English being quite approximate and wanting desperately to hide my discomfort, I went for the more obvious language...

"Mon...fiancé! Il est resté sur le quai ! Il faut que je fasse quelque chose! "My...fiancé! He stayed on the platform! I need to do something!

"Moi pas parler français bien... English...besser. Me...Bogdan." ("Me not talking French good. English...better. Me...Bogdan.")

During the next thirty minutes we tried to communicate. And I say "tried" on purpose: sometimes I would say something to him and the way he would look at me showed me he hadn't got a clue of what I was meaning. But we finally understood each other a little bit with a few words of German, Italian and Spanish added to French and English. And with most universal language: the hands one. He was Polish and was enrolled in the French Foreign Legion. That explained the green beret. And the poor dental health. I told him about Terry and that there was no way for me to contact him; that his wallet and train ticket were in his jacket pocket here with me. He nodded and said nothing more. Just like me, he hadn't a clue of what I should do in such circumstances.

We arrived at Avignon TGV station; Bogdan grabbed his light military bag but didn't help me with my two bags and luggage together with Terry's jacket and luggage. I tripped on the train stairs but fortunately a nice man who was waiting to get in the train grabbed one of my bags and held me in the air before putting me back on my feet. Bogdan was waiting for me a few meters away and, oh Lord, I dug my nails strongly to repress my hand slamming his smiling face.

On the main floor, I knew what I had to do: just jump on any SNCF employee and ask him or her in the sweetest way, to contact their colleagues in Montélimar and make a public announcement for Terry to join an information desk where he would be put in communication with me. That was the idea. Bogdan saluted me with a curt nod and headed straight for a coffee bar. Coffee! But that would have to wait. Terry first...(see? I'm not SO egotistic after all!)

The hall was filled with hundreds of persons who were about to take a train or those who were waiting for a family member or a friend to arrive. I spotted a man in uniform but he was surrounded by a crowd of people waiting for information. A few seconds after, a place on his left was cleared and I approached with all the possible grace regarding the circumstances.

"Monsieur? Monsieur! C'est une urgence!" ("Sir? Sir! This is an emergency!") His attention was on a short lady with blue hair. He raised a hand he put just in front my face to shut me up. When the lady started to show him a map, I just decided that it was enough. "MAIS C'EST UNE PUTAIN D'URGENCE!" ("But this is a fucking emergency!") He then turned toward me and threw me a glance full of disdain. But before he could tell me to wait for my turn I went on "Vous devez m'aider!" ("You must help me!") The words he uttered then left me struck dumb "Ah! Vous devez être Gaia, si je ne me trompe..." ("Ah! You must be Gaia, I presume.")

From his shirt pocket, he removed a folded piece of paper that he handed to me before turning and resuming his conversation with the lady. With the corner of my mouth I kept the piece of paper stable and opened it with one free finger.

"What the fuck are you waiting for? Your espresso is almost cold..." it said.

I recognized Terry's handwriting. 

How come....?

Slowly turning, the piece of paper hanging from my mouth, I saw Bogdan...and Terry looking at me, laughing their asses off.

It's only after I had some caffeine in my body (and after a well-placed blow into Terry's ribs) that he explained to me that he had jumped in another car a few seconds before the train had left Montélimar. He even had been able to witness my desperate attempt to stop the train. Bogdan had known all about it and had only been there to keep me from doing a big mistake...

Terry knew me so well... the bastard!

It was impossible for me to stay angry at him for long. His kisses in the neck and whispers how I'd be able to make him pay for his bad joke when we reached the guesthouse made me even forget why I had been once mad at him...

Unfortunately Terry's good humour melted like ice in a pastis glass ten minutes after when I received an SMS from Clarity saying that John and she were at least two hours late to pick us up. I didn't mind at all but Terry wouldn't stop mumbling and telling Bogdan how the girls had decided to stick together and were making a nightmare of this week-end. Bogdan winked at me and said "No believe him. He lies". With regrets, Bogdan left us a few minutes later to catch the bus to his casern. He clapped Terry's shoulder and blew me a kiss before throwing his bag on his shoulder and walking away. We watched him shake his head in disbelief: he had certainly spent a couple of hours with the oddest couple on earth...

KATHY 

It had started to rain but we didn't care. I dragged John in the first store and picked out two of the cheap umbrellas they had on display. Wordlessly he took them out of my hand and put them back on the shelf.  He picked one of the huge ones that hung in the back of the store. A family of four would have easily fit under that one and it was bloody expensive.

He ignored it when I pointed that out to him, paid for it and we went out in the drizzle. A minute later we walked very close to each other under a dark blue umbrella and I couldn't say a word for the next ten minutes. It would have been sappy if it wasn't so damn romantic.

The city of Montpellier is very beautiful and has an interesting history. I recommend everyone should look it up on the internet and visit if they can. Our hotel was located close to an area where a lot of students, artists and musicians lived. I liked the vibes, while John wasn't really comfortable, with all the graffiti, young men and women with crazy hair colors and even crazier clothes.  I could smell the creativity in the air.

We stopped for a drink inside a little street café. I grinned when John wiped the chair off with a napkin before he sat down and looked about as comfortable as a penguin in the desert.

After a short break we kept on walking. It didn't take long until we finally reached the centre of the city, with lots of stores, a huge shopping mall, many cafés and some very impressive buildings.

It started to rain harder, that gave me a good excuse to pull John in the direction of the shopping mall. I mean, if life gives you lemons - go shopping, or so the old saying goes. I'm sure Jack knows that one too.

We strolled through some of the shops:  John actually seemed to enjoy watching me model about 15 pairs of black strappy sandals for him. But when I asked him which one he liked best, he shrugged and told me they all looked the same to him. "John, look these have little glittery things on the heel, these are suede, these are leather, these have a flowery pattern and these...."

"Okay, let me look again, here try on these one more time."

I did and strutted up and down the aisle. He shook his head and handed me another pair, then another and another. I stopped in front of the chair he was sitting in. "Are you making fun of me?"

A grin and a twinkle in his eyes, "Now why would I do that? I'm just enjoying the sight."

I swatted his arm. With a laugh he told me "Okay, now honestly? Take these, I like them, really."

I put the pair with the highest stiletto heel and a thin ankle strap back in the box. John insisted on paying for them. "I'll pay. Walking in those is almost impossible so you can only wear them for me at home." I liked the thought but my face turned red anyway.

John saw the lingerie store even before I did. He grabbed my hand and pulled me in there faster than you can say Wonderbra. Now let me tell you, the French know what women and men like when it comes to fancy and sexy underthings. I love buying lingerie, but this was the first time the man I was with had even more fun doing it. It was a bit weird at first and my blush came back when he pointed out all kinds of lacy, shimmery and see-through bras and panties to me.

"Would you wear this for me tonight?" He held out a black satin bra with purple lace trimmings and a matching pair of panties. It was gorgeous. Sexy but tasteful. I swallowed, stroked my fingers over the soft material and nodded. "Good", he walked towards the register and I pulled him back. "Uhm, it's nice, but maybe...John I don't want to disappoint you but I'm not exactly a size 34 D."

"Oh. Right.Well," he motioned with the hand that still held the underwear, "go ahead and get your size then. Let's see if we like anything else." We? Oh my.

After a delicious lunch we walked back to the hotel, where Clarity and John were supposed to pick us up at 2 o'clock. John insisted we should be there a bit earlier, in case the both of them were already there.

At 1.45 we sat in the hotel's lobby.

At 2 o'clock John looked at his watch.

"Give them a little time, John, I'm sure they'll be here any minute."

I sat down on a chair and grabbed a magazine. It was in French of course, but I looked at the photos...maybe there was something about The Man?

No such luck, but the little poodle of the owners had decided he liked me and came running around the corner to lie at my feet. Such a cutie, but it would take me years to pronounce his name right.

For the next minutes I tried to ignore John's grunts and sighs and the way he constantly checked his watch. Carefully so he wouldn't see, I bent my wrist a little to look at my own, it was 2.30. Mhmmm....

"Come on, don't get all grumpy on me now. We're here, we're together and they might be stuck in traffic. Do you want to sit outside for a while?"

John visibly made an effort to relax and he stroked my leg, "You are right, it's just that I dislike unpunctuality. Waiting is such an absolute waste of time. We could have done something," he waved his hand in the air, "anything to fill the hours".

I put my hand on his and squeezed it. Would now be a good time to tell him that I'm late a lot too? 

Naaah.

At three we got these funny looks from the owners, clearly telling us 'will they ever leave?'

I didn't care because meanwhile their Persian cat was lying on my lap, purring.  

To say John was miffed was putting it mildly. At 3.30 I got worried. "Do we have their cell phone number? I hope they didn't have an accident."

"Kathy, you dealt with all the necessary preparations for this trip, how would I know their telephone number?"

Right then, the phone at the hotel rang. The lady looked in our direction, nodded and then began to talk animatedly.

She nodded at us and smiled. Alright, that must be them. 

Shortly after I heard a car horn outside. Yesss!!! Who cared that it was four o'clock now, they were here and they were okay.

But...uh oh...John looked thunderous. He stood up. "What do these people think? This is...."

I had to act fast. 

I  pulled him to me, laid a kiss on his lips and whispered in his ear, "John...please...if you hold back now and pretend that you are not angry I owe you one. Can you do that? For me?"

 I heard the front door and mouthed, "Please??"  His look told me that he wanted to let them have it, but I got a nod and I let out a sigh of relief. 

"Thanks."

I turned to walk down the short hallway to the room where our luggage was stored, but John pulled me back to him, gave me a deep kiss and with his eyes burning into mine said, "I will not forget your promise - I will remind you later."

"Hi Clarity, hello John I...oh....uhm......"

I don't know whether Clarity and John noticed that I wasn't able to string two words together after that kiss but I finally remembered what I needed to do and followed John to get our luggage.

As it turned out Clarity didn't feel well. I felt so sorry for her and I could see that John, the one with the long hair, was worried about her. 

Professor Pash kept his promise; he was a little curt with them in the beginning but it was obvious he tried to be friendly. In the back seat I leaned against him and I gave him a thankful smile.

We picked up Gaia and Terry and with a satisfied expression on his face, John watched Terry have a few sharp words with Clarity and John until Gaia stepped in and her elbow 'accidentally' hit his ribs.

The men mostly kept quiet while we girls chatted and talked the whole way. I could tell John wasn't comfortable being crammed in a small car with so many people.

In no time we reached Le Thor and the hotel John and I would be staying at. I was relieved that we could get out of the car, not because of me, but because I could feel John getting more and more tense beside me.

I couldn't believe he put up with all of this for me. Am I a lucky girl or what?

CLARITY

We were supposed to pick up John Nash and Kathy in Montpellier at 2:00 P.M. and Terry and Gaia at the railway station of Avignon two hours later. 

We were staying with friends and I was not feeling well at all. But I still had tons of things to do before leaving. I was just so very slow to do them. I wanted to prepare small gifts for everyone for the Woolloomooloo evening, because the person who organized it told me that there would be gifts for everyone. I thought it was very kind of her because she didn't even know us. So, I didn't want us to go there with empty hands. So, I asked my French friend to buy little things from Provence and worked on sticking little posters of the concert on them, as a memory of this trip.

But it took me hours to do so, I was so slow! John started to turn around me. I knew that sign, it meant that we were going to be late. And he hates that. Poor man; once more, I thought that he really picked the wrong woman! I told him that I would be ready soon. I must have told him that around ten times, until he decided to take things in hand, once more, even if he first didn't want to have anything to do with these sissy things. But he very quickly understood that he had to do something about this or we would never leave this place.

I frankly don't remember what I did after, that made us be even more late, but I remember that John was not happy at all. Fortunately, it seems that he couldn't stay angry with me very long, first because he knows me and knows that I don't do it on purpose. And, this time, I had also the "flu" factor to help me to be forgiven even easier. It took him only one angry look at my already tired face to make him forgive me and kiss me better.

"Don't!" I told him, "Don't kiss me, you fool! I certainly don't need to have to deal with you being sick the rest of the trip!" I know, that was unfair of me. But, hey, give me a break, I was really not feeling well, and I also felt bad because our friends were all waiting for us. And we were.... two hours late! Well, okay, I was.

In spite of me knowing the way to go to Montpellier while John didn't, he insisted to drive. I told him I was feeling good (okay, I lied) because I knew he would be very surprised by the French drivers' behaviour!

He was. But he was so focused on the road that he didn't say much about it. In the meantime, I was calling Kathy and John's hotel to let them know we would be late... and felt even more ashamed to hear that they were already waiting for us in the hall, with all their luggage ready! What were they going to think about us?

I looked at John's concentrated face, and felt bad for him. I knew he would feel guilty about this, while it was absolutely not his fault. I couldn't help and stroke his bearded cheek. He looked at me, a little surprised, raising his eyebrow, almost ready to tell me to leave him alone because he needed all his attention to handle this strange French way of driving. But all this passed through his eyes very fast and went away as fast as it came, replaced by a soft understanding smile. Did I tell you that I love that man? How would it be possible not to love him, huh?

We got lost in