Spring

Well hello, dear one, it's so nice to see you

And you, saucy ladies!

And you, shy little thing in the middle of the big forest

First, an acknowledgement that it's far from spring in the US. I hope this doesn't feel as though your face is being rubbed, rather that you are being encouraged, reminded. 

The French friends I have insist it's still winter, but the tiny, brave little things that have been announcing themselves, not to mention the nearby fields' bright green corduroy rows punctuated by reddish brown, say otherwise. Perhaps, like the glass half empty, what to others is winter, to my state of mind, is spring. The last few days of sun after months of grey and so much rain (I know, I know, it's not snow and at least it's above freezing. I am truly sorry) have made being a citizen of the world feel something of a religious experience.  Back when I was trying to untangle all the assumptions that had surreptitiously wound around and knotted me up, my shrink tried to help me understand my very British mother and typically Mediterranean father, by telling me that research has shown that the nearer someone lives to the equator, the more likely he or she is to live for the moment. Naturally, not always true (as evidenced by my French friends), but an interesting framework to kick around. When the sun creates these crazy beautiful shadows on the solid but tired and washed out buildings of Aix, when bouquets of mimosa wrapped in brown paper are something of a regular accessory, when the cafes are packed from morning until well after midnight with content voices softly bouncing off the stone of the streets and buildings*, I am bowled over by a feeling of good fortune. So yes, why think about tomorrow when today is just so incredibly perfect?  It makes sense to squeeze every last drop out of it. And so it has been.

A feeling of freedom had been starting to percolate,  egged on by nice weather, but also brought on by having just about completed the painful list of bureaucratic headaches. Adding to that, I  finished what may be my last search and find myself inexplicably choosing penury over hustling for my next gig. I'm freeeeee. And  keep thinking of that license plate from the 80's: No clock, no shoes, no boss, no mortgage,  It's an odd feeling combination of unnerving and shockingly exciting. perhaps the late winter, early spring of a new life.... 

I can't stop thinking about Marianne's painted blue Virgin Mary that's in her hallway. She's too heavy to steal.

After a 10-mile hike on Saturday followed by dinner out, I was expecting a low key day on Sunday, but Marianne called  and said "Nous allons à Chateau LaCoste aujord'hui!" and up she pulled in her Mini convertible with the top down, and a TOP GUN baseball hat for me to wear. We drove past hills and  vineyards and crumbling old houses and some posh new ones, to arrive at this interesting property that some Irish guy developed, making bio wine, having a hotel and multiple restaurants as well as housing some interesting art (Louise Bourgeois' spider, a smaller version than was at the Tate Modern for all those years) that we would have had to pay to go and see. But it's a lovely property with some old buildings and a modern one designed by Tadao Ando, where we lunched, outside in the sun, overlooking the vineyards. 

The walkway where we managed to avoid Security, who had already busted us once for walking where we shouldn't have (Marianne told me after that having done that made me officially French) Chateau LaCoste

Our lunch spot.  The menu was only in English. Chateau LaCoste

Rosé fountain?

Weird shit that we shouldn't have been looking at, Chateau LaCoste

​It's school vacation now so many of the regular meetups aren't happening, but one woman, who wasn't going to be able to hike again until September, was hellbent on going to the source of the Huveaune at Sainte Baume. I had hiked with her once, but didn't know her at all, and knew she spoke only French. Oh well, it would be an experience. She was kind enough to pick me up, despite it being in the opposite direction. I have had many experiences like that, where people have gone out of their way to do some kindness and then appear to think nothing of it. I really like that about most of the French people I've met and wonder if it's because they know how to take care of themselves, which makes it easier to be naturally kind to others. This woman is originally from Reunion and grew up when the volcano was active, enjoying picnics that turned into fêtes that celebrated eruptions that happened. Perhaps it was this that gave her a fierce love of nature. The water was amazing, coming from the source, descending in a stream that had become calcified, forming pools made of soft, rounded white rock which made the water appear an astonishing bluey green. I'm putting a link in because it was almost impossible to photograph, and there's a photo on the website that will give you an idea. 

We each took 485 photographs, stopping every 3 feet

It turns out that she does speak English, and funnily enough, once I knew that, it was easier to speak French. Spending time in this really beautiful place and being with someone who was so reverent was all that was needed for us to connect. Her kindness was repeated when I accidentally left my phone in her car when she dropped me off. After realizing it, I assumed I'd be taking a bus to her house that evening to pick it up, but when she found it , she drove back, parked her car and walked back and forth between where she dropped me off and where she last saw me (she didn't have my address). When I realized it was gone, my computer told me where it was and I went back and there she was, pacing the sidewalk, looking around. I thanked her profusely and she again acted in such a matter of face way, as though it was no big deal. What a lovely person.

Today I woke up to another beautiful day, making it an easy decision to blow off the gym and project that may turn into a business (more on that once the candle is lit), and so off I went on the 51 bus to Gare St. Charles in Marseille. I'd been waiting for a couple of months for a nice day to use my FREE bus pass to take a FREE ride to one of the islands or harbors in Marseille, figuring I'd  decide where to go based on which boat was leaving first.  I was shocked to find out that I'd have to pay, and that the boat to the Chateau d'If was full and the one to l"Estaque only ran in summer. So after a few minutes of deliberation under the Anish Kapoor at the Vieux Port, I toddled on over to La Joliette and got on the did I mention FREE? 35 bus to l'Estaque, which is a village that is part of Marseille, but is 11k away from Vieux Port. It followed the coast west, past the Corsica ferry and cruise ship terminals, shipyards, loading areas and dockyards. It was a fascinating ride that stopped me in this funny little village that is technically part of Marseille, but has the feel of a small town with a harbor.  

Anish, providing shelter and a place to re-jigger the day

The first thing I saw upon disembarking was a film crew and the second was the stand below, which had a long line, of course compelling me to join, doing as the Romans do. A long time ago when the cupcake craze had just started,  Debbie and I were sitting on a bench in the West Village and noticed a really long line, which we felt compelled to join It was perhaps 20 minutes before we reached the original Magnolia Cupcakes (we'd never heard of them). Because we'd been waiting so long, we bought four. They were terrible. We'd take a bit and then angrily throw them on the ground, much to the cheer of nearby pigeons who no doubt died of hypertension.

Back to the story, which turned out slightly better. Chichis are very Marseillaise and I'm going to guess that HQ is in l'Estaque because I've only seen one place in the main downtown and there were many shacks here. But Chez Magalie was clearly The One. Most people were ordering sweet chichis with Nutella or powdered sugar, but I ordered plain with harissa on the side, then headed across the street to sit and enjoy them while looking out over the harbor and Mediterranean. After quickly spilling the harissa on the sidewalk, I burned my mouth repeatedly but had no thought to slow down as letting them get cold seemed blasphemous. They're  made out of semolina, water and salt, are soft in the middle and crispy deep-fried on the outside, delicious.

The OG place in the OG part of town for chichis

My chichis before the harissa tragedy. Love the packaging.

It's a funny place that, like Marseille, is undefinable. Part pleasure boat harbor, part ratty old town with old men in black sitting at cafes, part scenic French town on a hill, part big boat repair place, part arid, rocky place that seems no one could live in, yet many do.  There were a lot of 30- somethings with a hippie/artist vibe, but then there was the very nice old lady who had just climbed the hill with her groceries, asking  me what it was about her house that made me want to take its photographs. She was confused and entertained at the same time.

This was the photo I took of the old lady's house

Fishing Tribunal and Dye Works. Hmmm

Pawetty houses, well looked after, but there was never a feeling of preciousness

Odd mixture of big rocks and sea, somehow confusing to me

Sweet little hippiness

I can't describe how much I love this

It was a lovely day and on the bus home, I thought about what Julia Cameron says that is easy to forget. Treating yourself like a precious object will make you strong. And so I was inspired to come home and write after this most perfect day, adding to my current state of bliss.

​*Sometimes late night or early morning revelers voices waft in, disturbing my sleep. I've rarely heard yelling, aggression or anger, rather, it is usually laughter and fairly regularly, singing. I so love this and find it equal pay for being woken up, which never lasts long.