The Fete cont.

Rain greeted us as we woke on Saturday morning. It came a little late to turn the weekend into “Woodstock”. Tents holding up ok, but raincoats and undercover activities have come into play. A giant scroll of drawings has grown to about 5 meters at last count. The drawings and paper cranes are destined for Lille to lift the spirits of Papie and Mamie. Fishing is an all weather sport.

It is normal to struggle half asleep to the breakfast table and receive a greeting as warm as the day you arrived in France. The love flows freely at the reunion. There is much to catch up on.

Lissa remembers her reaction as she first saw her young cousins dip their bread with nutella into a bowl of chocolate milk. The breakfast of champions. 

Favourite meal each fete for me is Moules Frites. Mussels cooked in stock and butter, served with French fries. The perfect match with a Belge Beer. It’s a slurp-a-thon, but we are family.

The crowd is thinning, like Sarkosy’s ego. It is a remarkable feat to gather the family together in such numbers and harmony. Anne’s children Valentine (17) and Thibault (15) have been playing with the kids. Our kids remember them well from their visit to Australia a few years ago. Almost all of the Lissa’s Aunties and Uncles have made the long trip down under. For the French, Australia is a strange faraway land. It is just as strange and faraway to the ones who have visited. 


The kids each received a little leather bag from Uncle Raphael. Their bags will be a constant companion but they will miss their new friends.