Cruising in Villefranche

Part one

blanc comme un cachet d'aspirine

Chapter 1.

Six months away from home

Villefranche sur Mer, where's that? I asked.

It's next to Nice, Mum said.

I looked it up on Google Maps. It was a small harbour town, in the South of France.

It'll be fun discovering a new place and it's only for six months. she said brightly.

Six months! I sighed to myself.... June 'till December. I would miss the last month of school, the summer holidays, the football, THE WORLD CUP!!! even the start of the new year. It sounded like a lifetime to me, and it would be in a foreign country.

While everyone else would be watching the matches, placing bets and stuffing their faces with Cadbury Flakes, I'd be stuck with a lousy bunch of French kids who had probably never even heard of the World Cup – or Cadbury Flakes. They probably ate French bread every day. Someone said that the French even ate snails...!

Mum had been trying to teach me French for years. She said I had a natural flair for languages. Languages maybe, but that doesn't mean I want to lose my friends and go and live in France... in a place called Villefranche sur Mer.

But why, Mum?? I asked miserably.

Because I've been offered a job there and we want to go and enjoy the experience. It's only a 6-month contract, she explained patiently.

Dad.....? I turned to him. Dad was surprised at first. He was worried about finding work, and concerned about me. Thanks Dad, at least he was on my side.

But you have a perfectly good job here, Mum, in England, I said. Yes, she replied, but we feel that travelling and foreign experiences are good for you. And us. And everyone who spends some time abroad.

I didn't know what to say to that. I didn't like foreign countries or foreign people. I was happy in my home town, where I knew a few people. I liked being surrounded by familiar faces. Maybe I didn't know everyone's name, but we all lived in Horsham and we were all English. We all spoke English. Even the foreigners who lived here spoke English.

However, Mum had somehow managed to convince Dad.

Apparently, years ago, when they'd just met and fallen in love, they'd taken the ferry across the channel, then boarded a bus and headed south. They ended up on the coast, in Nice, bought some old bikes and cycled around 'till they arrived at this pretty, little harbour town. The buildings were painted different shades of red, yellow and orange, creating an amazing artist's palette, blablabla... They'd found a room to rent, stayed there for three weeks and then they delight in telling me that I was born 9 months later. Eurgh.... like I need to know these details....

So now, 12 years later, we were going back to Villefranche sur Mer and Dad was OK with it and I was depressed.

We arrived on June 2nd. We flew EasyJet which I thought would be great, 'cause a few of my friends said it was the best way to go on holidays. It was only my second time on an aeroplane. It was uncool. The plane was crowded and I sat squeezed between Mum and Dad who couldn't stop talking about all the things they were going to do. Restaurants they were going to re-discover, beaches they were going to find.

Please.... leave me alone... Maybe I could fall sick and lock myself up in my bedroom when we got there.

I'd said goodbye to my friends two days before. Sean and Martin had bought me a cool Arsenal t-shirt with my name on the back, saying I could wear it everyday to remember I was English.... as if I would forget!!

We'd talked about French football clubs for hours. There was of course the OM from Marseille, with their great goalkeeper, Mandanda. PSG in Paris. The team I would be closest to, geographically, was Monaco: not a place famous for its football!

As we approached Nice, my parents finally seemed to remember me and offered to let me sit by the window for landing. I shrugged and said OK, thinking at least I would be less squeezed between the two of them.

I looked out of the small window. The view was AMAZING, the colour of the sea was a blue I never knew existed. The only sea I'd seen was during two school trips to Brighton. We'd had fun on the pier, played on the beach and all that, but none of us had really looked at the colour of the water. This sea was an extraordinary sparkle of blue, with the tiniest hint of deep green and the sky was so bright I thought someone had switched on the spotlights, like on a football pitch at night.

Then the plane tipped its left wing and started to go down and for a moment I thought we were heading sideways into the water. Dad leaned over to me and said that it was normal, the runway was just in front of us.... Whew!!

The plane straightened up, accelerated and all of a sudden, land appeared below us. Only a few meters to the side, the blue sea looked surreal.

In the airport terminal, we went to pick up our luggage. I heard a lot of English around me. It wasn't until we went through the gates that I started hearing French. I listened, to see whether I would understand anything. I overheard a woman ask a man:

Bon voyage, mon chéri? That was quite simple.

Tu as faim? J'ai preparé des pates, comme tu les aimes! she

added.

Mmmm.... half OK. What was 'depatte'? I wondered.

A few moments later, we were sitting in a taxi that was taking us to Villefranche sur Mer, as it was only half an hour's drive from Nice. Mum was chatting away to the driver as if they were old friends. I was still gobsmacked by the colours and the heat.

The air was hot and sticky, but it felt good. Maybe things were going to be cool after all. … 'cool' ... 'hot'... that was a good one, get it?! I turned to Dad but he was staring at Mum. I missed Sean and Martin already, who was I going to share my jokes with?

How was I going to last six months in a foreign country, with no one to invent bad jokes with? I thought of Jessie. I never thought of Jessie. She lived down the road from me, we used to play together when we were little, but now we hardly ever saw each other. A few days before I left, she'd given me a small diary: a plain dark blue booklet with 2014 on the front. On the first page she'd written in big black letters 52 weeks / 2 = 26

then on Monday June 2nd, she'd written 26.

Monday June 9th, she'd written 25. Monday June 16th, 24.

It had taken me a while to figure out it was a countdown. A countdown of the 26 weeks I was going to be in this alien country.

I stared out of the open window, feeling the hot breeze. The houses were extraordinary: massive and very grand. Was everybody rich in France? Were we going to live in a house like these, with palm trees and bright flowers everywhere? I never noticed any colour in our town, there were plants and colourful flowers in the park, but this was all amazing. Everything sparkled and glittered.

I instinctively reached for my phone in my pocket to take a photo to snapchat my mates, but then remembered.... I no longer had a phone. To make my life even more miserable, Mum and Dad had said that my English phone wouldn't work in France because we had an English subscription with OneTel. Once we'd settled down, we would think about getting me a new French phone. I hadn't spoken to them for the rest of that day.

The road wound and turned while the view of the coast became more and more impressive. I hadn't really thought about it what it meant to live next to the sea, in 'a coastal town'. Apart from the steep cliff, it looked like all these houses were actually NEXT TO the sea.

Chapter 2.

I have to share my home?!

All of a sudden my parents both shouted at the same time There it is...!

And I saw so much that my brain couldn't take it all in: a beautiful perfectly-shaped round bay of turquoise water, a small colourful red and yellow town which I guessed was the infamous Villefranche sur Mer, a harbour with picture-pretty sailing boats of different sizes and right in the middle, the most gigantic and luxurious cruise ship I could ever imagine. There were palm trees that sparkled, sails that glittered and flowers that shone in the sun. I was blown away. I'd never seen anything like it.

I found myself wanting to get out and explore. I wanted to go and see the sea close up. Maybe even put my feet in it. I wished I had a phone, to take some photos.

Mum had asked the taxi driver to drop us off at the top of 'Boulevard Sadi Carnot', opposite 'La belle Epoque'. Dad thought that was funny. Sounds like an ice cream parlour or a clothes shop for old ladies. Maybe Dad was as nervous as I was. His French couldn't be as good as Mum's.

We drove through the town. It was crowded, there were people walking through the streets wearing shorts and sandals and big sunglasses, most of them carrying ice boxes. Girls in tiny, colourful bikinis that I'd definitely never seen in Brighton. They reminded me of images we see on the telly, of people on holiday in exotic places on the other side of the world. Was I dreaming?? I could see Mum and Dad staring as well.

The car stopped. I suddenly panicked. This was it. I had arrived. I was starting a new life. All of a sudden six months meant nothing to me. I was moving here and I was going to live here for the rest of my life. Half of me wanted to try out the exotic holiday place, like on the telly, but half of me just wanted to go back home to Horsham and live like a normal 12-year old kid, with my mates Sean and Martin... and even Jessie.

Come on Jake!! We're here!! No time for day-dreaming now. We need help with these bags, Mum shouted.

Merci Monsieur, Dad said to the taxi driver, shaking his hand.

Au revoir M'sieur Dame, jeune homme. Bon séjour! the taxi-driver said, looking straight at me.

What did he say, Mum? Why did he look at me? I asked.

He was just wishing us a good stay. Jeune homme is young man, I thought you would know that, Jake, Mum said, looking around for street names.

Yes, I know that, I just didn't hear it properly. And I wasn't expecting him to speak to me.

Well, you better get used to it. Here everybody speaks to everybody. In French. It'll be great for you. Just think about it, you'll be bilingual in no time.

What did I care about being bilingual...?! What difference would it make to my life at home?! I picked up the three little rucksacks, piled them onto my shoulders, pulled the large black suitcase behind me and muttered Which way is it?

As we walked up the old stone street, I thought about what Mum had said. People were going to speak to me. In Horsham you only spoke to people you knew, no one spoke to you in the streets. And people wore proper clothes in England, not like here where it seemed to be one big holiday camp with compulsory sunglasses for everyone.

I didn't have to pretend to be sick. I felt sick. Speaking to people was not my biggest strength. In fact, when a teacher or an adult asked me what I liked least at school, my answer was always 'Speaking in front of the class'. Or simply speaking to adults or people I didn't know, like new kids in town. How was I going to manage in a foreign town? Why had Mum even thought of coming here? Why had Dad accepted? How was I...

Here it is! exclaimed Mum. 2 Rue du Vallon, Le Clos du Vallon.

I dropped my bags, because they were heavy and because I was shocked. We had to climb up some steps, over a bridge, going over some kind of street drain, like in the middle ages. I looked up and saw trees hanging over a balcony. Who had even seen trees that high up a building? What kind of a place was this?!

C'est magnifique!! squealed Mum. C'est joli said Dad.

I remained silent. This