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Aix-en-Provence


My street at 9 pm, never empty during the day. Behind me is Cafe Weibel, the best pastry shop and cafe, a few steps beyond, the plaza where the smaller daily market is held. The red light ahead on the right is Monoprix, my local supermarket where I sometimes go in my slippers, and a few doors beyond at the lit up door on the right is my shabby but most perfect apartmentt. I wish I had the words to describe how ideal my situation is..


There are a whole bunch of reasons why being in Aix this winter makes sense, one of which is a life polar plunge to untangle the patterns, habits, ways of thinking, shampoo brands that have evolved to make life thus far. Here's an example: There doesn't appear to be such a thing as stain remover here, but it turns out putting concentrated detergent on the stain serves the same purpose. Life has recently been rushing by shockingly quickly, which makes me want to make sure I'm on the right side of the line between contentment and somnolence. And what better way to do it than disengage from current routines that make it easy to not stop and think?


There's a tall and funny person I know, who was at one point shorter but just as funny, whom I'd venture to say is more centered and present than perhaps anyone I've met. Years ago, we went trail running together a few times, and this person tended to fall behind. So I'd wait by jogging in place to keep warm until she'd caught up, only instead of moving forward with me, she'd sit down in the path, likely not seeing the point of rushing through nature the way we were. Or, maybe she had no interest. The point being that I remember a feeling of wanting to get moving so the run could be checked off the Saturday To Do list, knowing a better path would have been to enjoy the reward sitting right there.


This thought leads me to the symbolism benches have always held, and my jealousy of people who can sit on them for the sake of pure enjoyment. I might be walking to Boston, or on the High Line, down in Falmouth, next to the Thames, any number of scenic places. I might even be really tired with feet that hurt. Benches I see seem to stare back at me, challenging me to sit the @#$% down and just *&(*& relax. At some level I'd want to, but never quite could. Too much to do, too many places to see.*


Almost


So, an important part of this Provencal junket, has been creating an opportunity to learn how to sit on life's bench, as well as perhaps a literal one. I have been embarassed by my frustration in crowded alleys here, when people are walking three or four abreast, sauntering and chatting, making it hard to barge past. Why am I in such a hurry? It's not as though I have anywhere to be.


Resetting has a timeline of it's own and is not to be rushed, haha. But the other morning, I found myself watching dust in a sun ray for some amount of time, and when I snapped out of it, realized I had reached a threshhold not previously accessible. It helps that life here is more focused on the present. There's a serious after work apero crowd, no matter what the temperature, and there's a gentleness and contentment in faces and actions of adults leaving work and kids getting out of school that seems more human than the impatient rush hours I remember, and the poor young (mostly) boys I used to see, busting out of classrooms where they'd been stuck all day, desperate to let off some steam.


So, there's been some amount of spacing out with the goal of no goal, learning to follow whims. One morning, I was lying on the couch, profoundly dreading writing, having a strong urge to get outside and go for a walk, so I let myself. There was no plan, I simply followed my nose. Instead of going into town, I went the other way, up the hill, which led to multiple decisions about whether to turn back or continue on, choosing the latter for quite a while, eventually leading me up a steep hill with hairpin turns that reminded me of Pacific Palisades, with big, beautiful houses and lush gardens. After climbing further, the very narrow road turned into a dirt path, where there were long views over the valley and to the hills beyond. It was morning, quiet, only birds singing, the air was very clean and gentle on my skin. Straight ahead there was a clearing around a limestone tower that looks like an ancient structure. To my confusion, surprise and delight, on the left of the tower were a group of old people (oh gosh, they were my age) doing yoga with hiking poles. I giggled.


View from the top of the walk that turned into a hike

Tower at the end of a path

Alpine ski prep?

French answer to stiles

Secret garden entrance

The light here is so calming


As well as spending time staring at dust and blowing off productive inentions, I've managed to create some structure where there was none, making a concerted effort to expand in various ways. I joined a gym that is rife with French men and ripe with French man BO, but everyone's very friendly, it has all the equipment I need and is a five minute walk from home. There have been multiple coffees, lunch, drinks, dinner and a Franglish Meet Up, chatting with people from Cyprus, Germany, the Netherlands, Australia, the Ukraine, Spain, Italy, Hong Kong, a few Americans and yes, some French people too! It's such a welcoming community, and the expats and Aixoise are skilled at socializing and welcoming newbies. Biggest accomplishment? I'm writing. Slowly, awkwardly, sometimes painfully, but I'm writing, beginning a project which may turn into something, may not, but it's releasing a story that has been inside me for a while, so that's all good.


French is creeping along sloooowly. My eavesdropping skills are definitely improving, perhaps thanks to nightly watching of Dix Pourcent (Call My Agent) in French at 3/4 speed with subtitles, sometimes with Google Translate open, sometimes not. Market navigation is also much improved, though these kind and friendly folks have a bit of English and somehow know that I'm not a native speaker! One day...


It's not all productive. Or maybe it is? Doing research on something, I ended up down a rabbit hole that led me to Irish Travelers, about whom I'd known little. The result was some incredibly engaging  youtubes about their wedding rituals, which sucked me in something fierce.


Cleveland Circle Reservoir? Bring on the benches, I'm ready for you. But not till May.....


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*A side note that has absolutely nothing to do with what I'm writing about today but is about a bench. I once knew a guy who grew up and lived in Stockbridge. He had a busy life, but every Thursday after work in the summer, he'd sit on a certain bench on the main street in Stockbridge for a couple of hours, where friends, relatives and neighbors knew to find him. He'd hold court, just sit and watch, or chat with strangers.


This is how I know France is a good place for me. Womens locker room.

Famous


OK...

Twilight is a time to go out and say goodnight to the day, there's always a lot to look at.

I was married to a good man and a wonderful father, yet we were not sympatico. One of our differences was that he liked order and predictability, which unintentionally asphyxiated me. I'd have a recurring and most wonderful dream about exploring a new place that was all alleys. Each time I'd get to the end of one, there were more, which was exciting and enchanting and more than a person could could ever ask for. The symbolism was obvious, even back then. Being in Aix, I realize I'm literally living my dream. This photograph is what it looked like, all full of mystery. Despite walking appx five miles a day, I still find places that are new..


Over and out from the bedroom view. Never get tired of looking at the Appeals Court,.


1 Comment


bleggat
Jan 18

Watching CALL MY AGENT in French with English subtitles is definitely the way to go. I did not realize that you could slow it down! And have you watched LUPIN? Also better in French with English subtitles. Thanks for sharing your journey!

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