It seemed only logical that when we returned home last year and got settled that I should begin planning our next escape to France. The travail of the house and the stress it caused began to fade into memory, I got to work, which reminded me how much I liked being away, and I began longing again for the peace and tranquility of the French countryside and the life we had there. It is wonderful how the memory works. I found that I remembered what I wanted to of last year and began to forget about some of the events that made life so stressful. As the good began to get ever better, as it invariably does in the special hue of remembrance, I began to yearn to see if I could recapture the reality of my French adventure.

But first there was some work to do for clients, and as soon as I got home I became extremely busy writing proposals, helping to define programs and their needs, and other similar things that would bring some money into my checking account (and that is necessary, as it seems to flee just about as fast as it comes in). The work is fun as I like working for these particular people, as they are creative and working in areas and on projects that I personally find rewarding. I also took on a new client who proved to be equally interesting, working on the growing congruity between spiritualism and religion, on the one hand, and, on the other, psychiatry. This was an entirely new area to me, but as I read and began to understand the issues involved I not only understood their importance for treating people who had problems of spiritual emergence, but how, in many ways, they also seemed to have relevance for my own recent life as I searched for some deeper meaning to things.

Yet, no matter how busy I was or preoccupied with my work, I always kept coming back to the need to return to France. Eleanor and I talked about this for some time and we decided that as long as we were not gone as long as last time and did not go at the same time of year we should go for it. We also decided that we wanted to go back to the Perigord Noir for at least part of the stay and then spend a couple of weeks in Provence. Because of our need to return home early last year we did not see some of the places on our agenda and we certainly wanted to revisit many of the sites that so infatuated us while we were there, and going back there would give us this chance. And neither of us has been in Provence for years so this seemed like the year to go back. It was this thinking that became the basis of our present adventure.

There was another reason I wanted to return to France this year, and that was to go to a language school in order to study French. When I got home I enrolled in a French class at one of the community colleges. I also got some very effective tapes that really helped. These experiences only serve to whet my appetite to study in France so I could get about as fluent as someone my age can. Therefore, I got onto the Internet, used one of the search engines to look for language schools in France and up popped the name of the BLS school in Bordeaux, as well as several others.

In the subsequent weeks I e-mailed them all, asking for details about their programs, their approach to teaching foreign students, living accommodations, and the cost. The range was astounding, but I liked BLS the best. They were always prompt in getting back to me, answered all my questions, and put me in contact with several past students so I could get their impressions of how the program worked for them. When Sylvie, the woman with whom I had been dealing, said she hoped I would want to stay with a family because it would make me more fluent more rapidly, I knew this was the place for me. What a concept, at 60 years of age I would be living with a French family who, I was told, would take very good care of me. It seemed to be too good to be true. I sure hope these folks are flexible!! So, with Eleanor's blessing I decided BLS was the place for me.

Several other decisions were made. I had a check up to determine what had caused my stomach problems while I was in France last year to be sure they did not reoccur. Everything was great, the doctor said, and he was sure that they were caused by the stress of dealing with the house, the fear of getting ill and other things. There was nothing organically wrong that he could see, the key being that when my plane set down at LAX one year ago last February all signs of stomach trouble simply vanished. This was good to hear and made the other planning much easier.

The housing issues were easily dealt with. For the Dordogne I e-mailed Colleen and David Snitch at Simply Perigord and asked them what they recommend. They had been so helpful last year that I wanted to rent one of their houses while I was back in their neck of the woods. They suggested two places and we chose one as it seemed to be the right size, had central heating and a wonderful view of that simply exquisite little town, Limeuil, which has won the "one of the most beautiful villages in France" designation. For Provence I contacted my old friend, Melanie, at Murray Hill International, the travel agent I used last year and whose advice I have come to trust without reservation. (No pun intended.) She found what she thought would be the perfect house for us between Aix-en-Provence and Avignon, and after seeing the photos I had to admit she was right again. She also arranged for our car rental to be picked up in Bordeaux. She is terrific and I recommend her to anyone wanting professional travel advice.

I got our frequent flyer tickets for Eleanor and me (wow, do you have to book them far in advance), and as these plans all fell into place it looked as though we were set. I planned for a departure of February 1 for 6 weeks in Bordeaux at BLS. Then Eleanor would join me in mid-March so we could travel to the Haag to see the Wileys (about whom you learned in last year's journal) before heading to the Perigord Noir, Provence, a trip to Zurich to see friends, before returning home in May. It looked as though we were set. Almost but not quite.

PART II -- The Decision Delayed

When I got home last year I noticed that one of the things I brought with me was a very sore left shoulder. After having three vertebrae fused in my neck two years ago I can no longer sleep on my stomach, my preferred position, and thus migrate constantly to either side. After 5 months on a hard bed I got bursitis in my left shoulder. Yes, I know, poor me, but it really did hurt.

After several consultations and tests, most of which were very painful, the doctor said the best way to deal with this was to go in and clean out the joint. In a moment of madness I agreed so last January I had shoulder surgery. The only thing the surgeon did not tell me was that the after effects would be lengthy, I would need a great deal of physical therapy, and I would have to put off the trip. He knew I was set to go to France three weeks after the surgery, which I could have easily postponed, so why he said to go through with it is beyond me. After having been cut on so many times in my life I should have known that all surgeons want to do is cut. I had my answer after all.

In addition, despite going into the hospital in great health I came out with a case of pneumonia. This happens, people at the hospital said, but still I was mad as hell as I had Legionnaire's Disease about 10 years ago and when any illness settles in my lungs I get worried. That history, together with the flu epidemic in Europe at the beginning of 2000, made me decide to put off the trip. It was just too much of a chance to take.

When I told the people at BLS my story they said I could come anytime I wanted. There was one hitch, however. The family with whom they had placed me for my February stay had decided to simplify their lives now that the children were grown. They were selling what was said to be an exceedingly elegant home and move to an apartment in town, one that, I am afraid to say, had no room for itinerant students. The staff at BLS found me another family -- one with three grown children: one working and living in London, another studying in Paris, and another attending the University of Bordeaux -- and made plans for me to attend the school beginning April 24th.

The upshot of all this was that I made arrangements to leave with Eleanor on March 18, take the trip to the Dordogne and Provence as we had planned it, and then, after the travelling was over, send Eleanor home the beginning of May after a week visiting with friends in London. I would then attend BLS in Bordeaux for 6 weeks before flying home the middle of June.

PART III -- The Farrands in France, Edition Deux Begins

Eleanor made sure I had the physical therapy for my shoulder, I had more tests on my stomach to be really sure all was well, and I had a stress-echo on my heart as part of my regime for preparing for this trip and for getting back on the bicycle again. I used to ride competitively in the US and Italy several years ago (my God, it was 40 years ago) when there was much less of me than there is now, but stopped riding after the third skull fracture. I had given myself a new Kestrel bike for my 60th birthday which I had painted fire engine red with white polka dots by CyclArt, a really terrific frame painting and restoration shop near San Diego; I wanted to be sure I did not kill myself in my fatuous but fervent desire to recapture my youth.

If you read the October chapter of last year's Journal you might remember I had a stress test in Paris the results of which were very positive. So were the results of this one. Dr. Groussin's diagnosis that I had the circulatory system of a teenager is still accurate, I am happy to say. (Yes, I would still rather have that teenager's libido, but then beggars cannot be choosers.) So, after all this was completed and the results were in, it looked as though we were ready to go.

So, off Eleanor and I went. She was actually looking forward to the trip this time even though she was completely stressed when she had an hour left before we were scheduled to depart for the airport and had yet to begin packing. But she threw some things into the suitcase, got the tickets, and I put the bags into the car we had rented for the drive to the San Francisco airport from our home. We do not fly on the same plane so things at times get a bit complicated. She flew Air France, leaving at 6:30 p.m. and I took United Airlines, which left an hour later. Then, at Charles de Gaulle where she arrived first Eleanor would go from her terminal to mine, we would meet up, and go into Paris together to the Hotel la Bourdonnais.

This planning we had done worked. I put her on her plane and then went to the United gate. I looked at the Boeing 777 and again wondered how anything so big could ever get into the air and hoped the pilot had gotten a good night's sleep. I went on, got seated in business class (what a nice way to travel especially if paid for by frequent flyer miles), met and chatted with some fellow passengers, and got a glass of wine from the very good attendants. We were ready to go.

I settled back in my seat as the plane taxied down the runway and shot into the air. There was not quite the same sense of anticipation that I had last year as I began to wonder what 6 months in France would really be like. I knew what to expect this time and that took away the edge and sense of wonderment. But I knew this vacation would be as terrific as last year. We were staying in a different house in the Dordogne, we would be gone for a shorter length of time, but the one thing we would not have is that exquisite parade of friends we did last time - the Meuters, the Roberts, the Maynes, the Korvases, the Garners, Matt and Kristen, Eleanor's sister, and my niece, Lisa. Van and Virginia are coming to be with us a few days in Provence, but other than that we will be on our own, which isn't all that bad a thing. However, we so enjoyed sharing our adventure with these folks that it will be strange this time to be alone for most of the trip.