We started losing speed. My eardrums told me we were getting lower. Oh, how I longed to be at a window seat to see outside when the wheels hit the ground of the country I would call home for the ten months!
The torpor induced by the more-than-fourteen-hour trip was jolted loose by sudden overwhelming elation as I felt the plane finally touch down. I looked to the little Colombian girl who had been a faithful companion on the flight from Dulles airport in Washington, D.
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I had not, until then, known how to make those dreams a reality. The family lived in a large, very old stone house that they had bought twenty years earlier in its provincial condition. Anna, a fiery German painter www. What one could never find in the house, however, was a single television. The Durand-Pichotkas had no time for television. Each day was a new project, be it planting crops in the farm-like garden, leading the flock of sheep from one field to another, or redoing the wood floors in the bedroom.
They spent every free minute enriching their lives with books, art, food, and friends. Each night was spent around the dinner table, talking about anything and everything. On weekends, we often visited friends homes for long, lavish dinners.
