Judy.
Here we are in Aix-en-Provence, where I feel ridiculously at home. Part of it is that my French, somewhat better than my Spanish, has been floating around my head longer, and I can more easily communicate. We’ve had a few interactions with French speakers, and I can hold my own if they speak slowly. Of course I often use the wrong verb tense, and confuse the genders of the nouns, but have been able to make myself understood and no one has yelled at me yet. Hallelujah!
Here we are in Aix-en-Provence, where I feel ridiculously at home. Part of it is that my French, somewhat better than my Spanish, has been floating around my head longer, and I can more easily communicate. We’ve had a few interactions with French speakers, and I can hold my own if they speak slowly. Of course I often use the wrong verb tense, and confuse the genders of the nouns, but have been able to make myself understood and no one has yelled at me yet. Hallelujah!
I’ve always been a
Francophile. You can tell me all the things “wrong” about the French, but there
was not a time I didn’t love the language and the country. Paris is, of course,
a favorite, but Provence is a wonder all in itself. The air and colors really
are different. Aix is a well-to-do city, with expensive shops and restaurants,
and beautifully dressed people, but there are also ordinary folk who wear jeans
and sweaters and grab a sandwich to eat on the go.
There is a small
daily market at Place Richlème with cheeses, vegetables, sausages, flowers, and
all the lavender products you could want (let me know if you need some). Three
times a week Cours Mirabeau, the main street, turns into a giant market with all
of the above, plus fresh seafood, food stalls, antiques, and all kinds of fabrics,
from the material itself to clothing, tablecloths, sheets, hats, purses, and
costume jewelry. It’s really a feast for the eyes just to walk around. And
there’s a Carousel right in the middle.
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| Spices stall at Cours Mirabeau |
Streets in the old
part of the city, where we live, are wider than Cádiz, but still mostly
pedestrian walkways, with the occasional car driving slowly through. Roads
still dash
off in all directions, ending up in small or large parks, many with
fountains. This was a spa town with thermal waters, and fountains are
everywhere.
There are tiny 6-person electric buses that can take you around the city. We took one route one day just to get a view of town, and the whole thing took us less than a half hour! The central area is small, so most of those who rode the bus were elderly or disabled.
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| One of hundreds of fountains |
There are tiny 6-person electric buses that can take you around the city. We took one route one day just to get a view of town, and the whole thing took us less than a half hour! The central area is small, so most of those who rode the bus were elderly or disabled.
The city feels
open and oddly welcoming, with people nodding “Bonjour” to you—I feel like
Belle in the opening scene of BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. NEVER walk into a store
without saying “Bonjour” to the proprietor!
Ted found a Servas
day host, Nadia, and her husband René, who invited us to lunch, then drove us
to a beautiful hill village nearby, Ventabren. We spent a couple of hours climbing
around the quaint old town (no cars!) and over the hill past a park where it
seemed the whole town was playing. We even spotted the Camino Santiago de
Compostela, which starts a few miles away in Le Puy, and walked part of it
through the town. Our conversation was a bit of Franglais, but we communicated.
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| René & Nadia in Ventabren |
Part of what helps me feel at home is that I have found something of a community. This happened in a confluence of opportunities.
One of my dear
former students, Jessica, lived here for several years. When I wrote her I was
coming, she put me in touch with Apryl.
After our visit with Nadia, she invited us to visit their Protestant
church on Sunday, with a lunch afterward. That was a real dose of total
immersion—in French. While we’d been able to fake it with Nadia, at church we
were on our own. We caught some words here and there, and the gist of what was
happening, but were often pretty lost.
Afterwards at the potluck lunch, though, we got into some really
interesting conversations in French.
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| Lunch after church |
Turns out that
Apryl attends the English meeting of the same church, and she invited me to a
Bible study in English where the group of women from Madagascar, Morocco,
England, Norway, Canada, and the US have welcomed me into their midst. It’s
good to be a part of their group.
This city was home
to the artist Cézanne, and we visited the Musée Granet to see some of his works
in a show entitled “Cézanne at Home.” We really enjoyed his works and seeing
the influence he had on later painters.
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| Cézanne's "The Bathers" |
Our apartment is
light and WARM, with a sheltered garden where we often eat lunch and smell the
clematis that climbs up the wall. Steps down the street is Pavillon Vêndome, a
small 17th century palace built for a rich man’s mistress, in a park
filled with flowers. Next to it is a children’s playground, which will be fun to
visit when Chris and Didi (remember them from Budapest?) bring their son Nicky
to visit for Easter.
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| 10 Rue Vendome |
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| Kitchen and garden |
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| Living room |
Last weekend we
flew to the north of France, almost to Belgium to the tiny village of
Quivrèchain to visit longtime friends Don and Catherine.
But that’s another
blogpost…
