I wanted to take the time to pay homage to my best friends
here in Australia, so you know a little more about with whom I'm spending all
my time.
My best friends here are mostly backpackers that I've met
through Patrick and his hostel. Though I'm not living there, I make an
appearance generally every other day, to hang out, chat with Pat, or just drop
in to say hi. The backpackers don't know me well I think just assume that
I live there. I have three best friends here, Patrick (whom you already
know about), Maxime, and Adrien.
Unfortunately, I don’t see Pat nearly as much as I’d like to, and we haven’t
had good one-on-one time in weeks. I miss lounging on him on his couch
after cooking a long, involved dinner, watching movies, eating Tim Tams and
drinking wine. Hopefully we’ll remedy our mutual absence soon cause I
miss the bugger. So I’ve been spending
most of my time with these two:
Maxime is, no doubt, my best girl friend here in Melbourne,
the one I'm in all the photos with on Facebook. She's from just outside
of Versailles (near Paris) and is staying in Melbourne for a year and a half to
fulfill a Masters in Commercial Law. Over the past three weeks, we’ve
frightened ourselves by how similar we are. Unlike many others in the
hostel, we don’t drink much, don’t smoke, love being outside, love getting off
of our butts and doing something, love walking, love exploring, love being far
away, love learning, love creating… so we speak English and speak French and
ride around Melbourne and along the Yarra River (reminiscent of the path along
the Schuylkill River in Philly); pumping on our used bikes that we bought
together, talk about life and money and boys together, try on terrible clothes
in department stores together; I share with her my secret spots in Melbourne,
she shares with me the secrets of her past; we quiz each other in our
first-languages, the Aherns love her and she joined Sally and me to
Ecucha. We’re the same height, the same weight, she’s two months younger
than me and she looks like a model. The third day I met her, she asked
Patrick and me, “Am I very French?” and Pat and I looked at each other and
laughed and laughed to her scrunched eyebrows, “You are the EPITOME of French!”
and she is, she just oozes it, but without all the negative stereotypes. She’s
loving and giving and fun and has a stupid laugh and never wants to live in
Paris again. I love her. She’s great.
The other main person in my life is my beau, Adrien.
Yes, I picked one up, what can I say. He too is French, so you, OK, two
of my three closest friends here are French. I like to consider it a
coincidence, though I can just imagine Haddon cocking an eyebrow or two.
In any case, he too is from outside of Paris (but met Maxime traveling) and
does IT work to fulfill an internship requirement for uni(versity).
(Haddon, I told him your stories of students bringing in keyboards reeking of
vodka and he totally relates.) He’s a dorky, quieter, sweet soul with
true heart and a boat-load of passion to do things right in this world –
whether it’s perfecting his stir-fry recipe (he studies the chefs at a local
Chinese restaurant intensely nearly every day) or making sure his girl’s dark
chocolate cravings are satisfied.
And get this: Adrien just revealed to me that his father is
a count. Yah, as in, there’s a family ring and exclusive special events
and they can trace their family name back 800 years. His ancestors sailed
over with Lafayette to help the Americans win the revolution. So,
uh, thanks!
Oh, and of course this means that Adrien is destined to be a
count someday. Hmm…
