COUNTRY MOUSE/CITY MOUSE

The figurative morning after

Happy New Year and all that jazz, which you might surmise, is not really my thing, hasn't been since waking up on a bathroom floor in Cayman, creases on my cheek from the tile design on which I had slept.  But I was sad to not enjoy this years NYE company because our hostess Valerie from Fairbanks, Alaska got stuck there, in temperatures that regularly hovered at -30F, though it was because of snow in Amsterdam that all flights were delayed. Don't tell her, but I was going  to sneak out of her party at 8pm anyway.

One theory about the flight delays at Schipol is that those crazy Dutch were having a bit too much fun.

So it was a monastic early to bed and traditional sigh of relief.

At Tanglewood, I worked with and became friends with a guy named Dave who oversaw the grounds crew out there. A Pittsfield native, he has a natural curiosity as well as a disdain for city folk before he knows them. In the winter, I'd drive out there to keep the crew connected to life at  Symphony Hall after which Dave would take me out to lunch. I once remarked that I loved the way the Berkshires look in the winter, the clean lines, tidiness and simplicity. Well, he darn near fell off his barstool, thought I was off my rocker. "What, you don't like color? You don't like life and blooming and green?"  He never let me forget that comment, though I stand by it. Other seasons are good too, it's just that the lack of color and visual clutter of dead winter is calming, all that negative space. 

January is the non-visual equivalent. The neutral and calming after the exciting overload, in this case the holidays. It's low energy, a little introspective, and according to a woman I met who calls herself a spiritual guide but to me seemed more of a lecturer, a time to plant seeds for the following summer.  Well I'm not sure there's much sowing going on at 20 Rue Paul Bert, but I have been appreciating the sometimes uncomfortable quiet of Aix on a Monday morning when the shops are no longer open, the kids are back at school, and the Christmas markets, santon vendors and kiddie rides have been dissembled and gone. No distractions.  My acupuncturist once said: "Do you know why we sleep so much in winter?" "Because we want to", meaning, listen to your body. Usually a no curtain in the bedroom adherent, there's a (naturally charming) street light outside my apartment which has led to an introduction to the power of room darkening curtains, leading to a recent 10:40 am rise. But life hasn't all been sleeping and solitude.

Most treasured belonging

I'm beside myself with excitement about the free bus pass recently scored, having joined the legions of the "agee", as evidenced by my excitement about a frigging bus pass,. Should I change  the name of this blog to Old People on Buses? When walking around the bus stations in Aix and Marseille, I'm like a kid with a loaded gift card at the toy store on the day after Christmas, looking at all the signs. I could go to Fuveau, Aubagne, Nice, Cassis, to Roque d'Anthéron, I can take the ferry to Isle d'If and Estanque and on and on and on. It's only been a couple of weeks, but I calculated I'd already saved enough money to rationalize buying a new Patagonia cozy (slightly flawed logic I may be known for).

So I'm essentially commuting to Marseille, having gone there so often that I had to ask the question: Why don't I live there? Marseille is NYC in the 80s, which I loved with.a passion but never wanted to make my home. The chaos of dusty storefronts, small shops with things you've never seen spilling out, brand new immigrants, graffiti, urine, rodentia. It's a place with so much going on and I love the city something fierce. Back in the mid-eighties, I felt the same way about Portland, Oregon. When I was getting ready to move there and talking to my family about it, one of them asked why Ohio? When I corrected them, they said "Ohio, Oregon, same difference" (remember the New Yorker map of NYC?), which it did seem at the time. Oregon was a backwater with not much more than the wood and paper industry (One of my temp jobs was in the Containerboard division at Boise Cascade), but the city was on the precipice of exploding. Like NYC in the 80s and Marseille now, real estate was cheap and there was a young population, allowing for experimentation and innovation with less financial risk. Craft breweries, serious coffee roasting, movie theaters that served craft beer and cocktails, 1920s jazz clubs, a non-smoking restaurant, under age dance clubs, bike sharing.  Portlandia, you probably saw it (still one of my favorites, that man is a genius).  Being in a city where everyone's experimenting, putting it out there, is infectious. So went to see a young and fun versions of the Barber of Seville at the Opera House one day, walked the whole Corniche another, went to a huge mall near the ferry boats that shuttle cars and humans around the Mediterranean, and met people for coffee. Such an exciting and gritty change from heartbreakingly beautiful and gentle and safe Aix, where I'm always happy to return.

This store reminded me so much of the vibe in the Garment District in NYC, Marseille

Tunisian store, Marseille. It smells amazing

All different varieties of harissa, Tunisian store, Marseille

Lobby of the Opera House, which likely hasn't been renovated since the 60s, from the second balcony

It was sold out show and there were actually people sitting on the steps, lots of kids

Marseille is a serious working port.  Large ferry to Corsica docked outside the Apple Store

View from the front seat of the upper level on the bus. Score., leaving Marseille

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I had rather pushily invited myself to a group called the Alternative Wolf Pack Hiking Group, but due to responsibilities, hadn't been able to join until this past Tuesday. You're wondering about the etymology, aren't you? Apparently there was a hiking group that found people bringing dogs to be a bit of a problem, so the dog owners formed their own alternative group. Maybe there was one that looked like a wolf? The hikes take place once a week all about an hour drive from Aix in different directions. A few kind souls, many of whom seemed to not have dogs, consult All Trails and then send out a text with a rendezvous time and place. Even kinder, some provide rides for those of us who don't have cars, and then we all troop through the forest or up the mountain, with someone minding the app to make sure the sheep aren't straying. Lunch and a picnic are part of the activity, as is lots of chatting with whomever you find yourself next to.  It was wonderful and I'm looking forward to the next hike. 

There are so many groups doing different activities. Some are all ex-pat, some half and half, this one the latter.  As I've melted into group life a bit, there has been a learning curve. The first is that some of the people I'm with have been living here for 20 years and are waaaay past the "Where are you from?" convo. Others are living in Aix after having lived in six other countries and don't have the childish enthusiasm and curiosity that I might about all things new and different.  So every new group joined, I am careful to suss things out and get the vibe before I go into my customary interview mode.  The French people in general tend to be more curious, genuinely interested in hearing about my background and reasons for being here, and still, despite the news, about what it's like to live in the United States. The other thing I'm still working on is figuring out when to speak English, when to speak my stuttering French and when to just keep quiet. I want to work on my French and know that the only way it will improve is speaking, however it's slow, I am often at a loss for a word and slow, imagining how patient the listener has to be and how hard it would be in my shoes. English would be easy of course but then why am I here and how am I ever going to learn??  So, sometimes I'm just quiet, not wanting to interrupt the flow of a conversation. I know, surprising. 

One poor man with all those women, the Wolf Pack

And then there's in-between city and country life, here in Aix. 

My neighbor. Want to go in, really don't like those super sweet desserts though

The Tapestry Museum, where I saw a photography exhibit that included some great photos of the inside of Roma houses and caravans

Round the corner. Commute from produce store to my apartment

Today's evening walk. Despite it snowing last night, spring is in the air