Sunday Blog 246 – 16th August 2026
And now to the meat of my French trip; the writing retreat.
You may perhaps recall my unsuccessful French writing retreat experience in September 2025, when I bolted 48 hours into a nine night stay. With bare-faced lies about an invented family emergency, I managed to get a lift to the train station, (there being no taxis, buses or any other means of escape), a train to Toulouse where I hired a car and drove to Biarritz and back. (When adventure comes knocking…)
This year, I chose to attend a week’s French writing retreat convened by Mariel Hacking, owner of the Limnisa writing retreat in Greece. I’ve been to her idyllic writing centre three times so far, and I knew Mariel would guarantee quiet mornings for getting on with the work, and a writing consultation with kind, incisive feedback. She was the guest facilitator at Nathalie Edward’s exquisite The Mill in the small town of St Georges de Luzencon in the Occitane region of France.
The Mill is a magnificent four storey building which is well into the process of being lovingly converted into a creatives’ haven. My bedroom was both redolent with historical charm as well as offering a fresh new ensuite bathroom. Plus there was the rush of the river, its incessant sound day and night was a balm in the French heatwave. This was the week of the horrendous Bordeaux fires on the other side of France.
The library at the Mill is an incredible feat of renovation which retains much of the mill’s mechanical parts with a funky, sympathetic interior design. Plus, every book I ever wanted to read on writing (and many more I’d never heard of) were all there. I compared that with last year’s French fizzog where the “library” consisted of ten books, one of which was the host’s self-published memoir. Plus this year, I was allowed, even welcomed in the kitchen, which is a must for me. I’m not the type that thrives being catered for; every now and then I just need to prepare something for myself.
And of course, there was the company; I had travelled with my dear writing buddy Karen, and met two other women there. How wonderful it was to suffer side by side in the morning as we wrote in silence until 1pm. Over lunch we broke into endless discussions of our works in progress, and all things books and writing. Of all the art forms, writing seems to be the one that most encouraged procrastination; a writing retreat seems to be the winning formula for me at least.
I think back to my excited blog on 28th June 2926 (On the Eve of a Journey) as I was about to embark on this 2026 French odyssey. I reflect on this new layer of experience and how much this year’s trip added depth and breadth to my love of all things French.
Was I ready to come home? Perhaps not. Am I happy to be home? Yes, and no. This week, after trying to curb my impetuous travel urges, I succumbed and booked a mini getaway in the south-west of Western Australia, three hours from home.
“I just need to book something on Airbnb,” I explained to my long-suffering husband before heading out the door for two nights. I offered for him to accompany me, but he wisely refrained. Perhaps he recognised the look of the writer seeking to recreate that writing retreat feeling.