Borgers with No Borders.

our lives, our loves — through our earthly adventures.

I Flaked. Dimanche Repas: Semaine 8

I flaked.  I know.  I regret.  One cut.  Last week.

It was a cook-less week for me, save for some Red Velvet Cupcakes that I had to make for my son’s class — in celebration of his 6th birthday.  Red Velvet Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Frosting, from a very interesting blog of someone who makes cupcakes for a living.  Red as Red can be.

I’d like to do this recipe again with the right american ingredients on hand — since I had to substitute buttermilk with natural full-cream yoghurt.  I also could not fathom how the recipe called for 2 oz of food coloring — which seemed like an awful lot!  I used half of that, and my cupcakes already looked like aliens from Mars.

Instead of keeping warm in my kitchen at home, my little boy and I hopped on a TGV — and made our way down to Paray le Monial (Bourgogne) — for some fresh country air.

I had to make good on a promise to visit an old friend of mine who was practically a neighbor during our old Surabaya days.  She now lives in a 6-hectare land with a little farm house, 2 horses, 3 sons, and a half-finished swimming pool.  Their home is work in progress — totally made by their very bare hands.  Every brick, every layer of paint, every plank of wood was laid down by her and her engineer husband.  Something I really admire and respect — since I don’t think I could ever do the same.  Country living is one thing, and manual labor is another.  They don’t necessarily have to go together, do they?  🙂

For the first time in my life, I imagined myself living in similar surroundings.  With neighbors not any closer than 200 meters, supermarkets with prices that didn’t make you gasp, and shop-keepers who you could actually converse with.   Somehow, this trip made me believe that I might just be able to survive  in the countryside.  I always thought I was a City Girl.  But this trip was different.  Or perhaps it was I who was probably different.  (“Older?”… a little voice whispers inside me.)

It’s a simple, stressless life.  Quiet, fresh, open, and friendly.  Even in France.  Minus the rush and the harsh realities of big city living.  It could be age … but the magnetism of the peace and space of the country suddenly revealed a perspective I had never really experienced before.

My son loved every minute of our trip.  Well, for someone who has lived on an island for practically the first 4 years of his life… it is difficult not to love the outdoors.  Even in Paris, in the dead of winter, he refuses to wear slippers, socks, or shoes when he is home.  His feet need to be free, he says.

I went back to Paris a changed woman.  With a new skill.

The little voice inside me might just right.  🙂


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