As I come to the end of day one of our new life in Quillan, the enormity of what we are doing is dawning on me.
Last night we arrived late in Quillan, having kindly been collected by car from Toulouse by the B&B owner. As we drove on increasingly familiar roads, past familiar landmarks, it felt like coming home, even in the dark of night, without the benefit of the magnificent views of the Pyrenees to greet us.
Crashing into bed at 11pm, after a two-hour whistle-stop tour of the four-storey, two-house labyrinthine stone property that comprises our living quarters and the B&B, still mildly jetlagged and with brain overloaded with information, I wondered what we had let ourselves in for.
It was a sleepless night as the bell of the church tolled mercilessly every hour in time with my tossing and turning. Is this all too much? Have we bitten off more than we can chew?
And then, having finally succumbed to a few hours’ sleep, I opened the shutters to the glorious sight that is Quillan on a winter morning. I went downstairs and found the wherewithal to make a cup of chamomile tea, and all of a sudden everything seemed possible again. For those of you who know me, the subsequent strong coffee also helped!
As I type tonight, the owner has departed, the final handovers are complete, some things were forgotten in the rush. It’s too late for regrets, and Tom and I are on our own – tired, but happy.
I hope the studies that show sleep deprivation produces the same effect as drinking are not true, or I fear I am drunk in charge of a bed and breakfast.