April 17th, 2025

Such a happy time; Jenn, KO, me and Laura at Les Roches Blanches

I have a friend who is rarely in one place, though when at home she is likely cooking a seriously delicious dinner for a gaggle of friends, or hosting people at a weekend house. When away, she could be in another part of the country looking after a parent, flying to an obscure corner (?) of the world for work, spending a week in the jungle with her family, or exploring a major metropolitan and very foreign city alone. I should mention that she has the kind of job that has many relying on her to make decisions that have significant ramifications. Also, she's warm and kind, makes her own curtains, runs half marathons, speaks four languages fluently, plays the piano and is much better read than I. The only parallel we have is our equally bad performance in an escape room. Left to our own devices, we'd certainly die, hopefully quickly. 

When thinking about what feels like the significant emotional challenge of transitioning back from France to the US, I sheepishly think of this friend and try to get myself to believe that in the scheme of things, it's not such a big deal. After all, I'm not working, have only half mastered one other language, quit the piano at the age of 12 and have had to put running behind me. We're all different, I tell myself while thinking back to what was the trauma of unbridled and barefoot summers being upended by alarm clocks, regular bathing and disapproving teachers, resulting in a lifelong dread of fall. My friend was likely excited to get new pencils after having done more than the required summer reading. 

That same dread I felt for fall has recently taken up residence in the pit of my stomach, as leaving Aix looms. Last week, three friends began a journey that began at the Monte Carlo tennis tournament, continued to St. Tropez and then to Aix. To me their arrival felt like a harbinger of my departure, despite an excitement at their arrival. But then here they were, on the patio of La Rotonde, only here an hour or so, settled in, talking, laughing, enjoying a Provencal rosé and watching the world go by. All the bad dissipated and not surpassingly, their company turned out to be the gift needed to banish dread, instead I got to share my life and be reminded of the good people back in Boston. 

These ladies have travelled together before, and it's evident, they are like seaweed in the ocean with each other, making room, flowing and bending as the currents come, each having their roles. Laura wants coffee early and is busy observing, Jenn sleeps in and provides levity and warmth, KO is the mayor and on top of logistics and timetables, which is impressive with two lefties. We spent such a most perfect time talking, wandering, hiking, getting lost, eating and seeing new things.  Our time flowed perfectly, then these fine people were off to Nice, Paris then Logan. It's thanks to them that while I'll never be able to do all the things my other friend is capable of, this transition is nailed. 

Flexing our American muscle at Les Roches Blanches in Cassis

Thanks, folks. Jenn, KO and Laura in front of their vestibule on their way out of town

This time coming to an end has motivated me to do all those things one puts off because there's so much time. 

One morning at the daily market, a woman told a man that it was a ripoff and anyone in their right mind would instead go to the Arab Market on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. I did some investigatory work and eventually arrived there at the correct time and sure enough, there were between 20 and 25 stalls set up selling some similar produce, fish and olivy sorts of things at lower prices, but more interesting were middle eastern grains, spices, sauces, robes, shoes, detergents, towels, etc. It was exciting to walk 20 minutes and be in another world without using a passport. 

The Museum Granet is always at the top of every tourist list in Aix, and one Sunday a month or so ago, I wandered into what I thought was the whole museum, exiting half an hour later, disappointed by the amalgam of Republic era status, early artifacts and very small collection of pre- and impressionist oil paintings that included a few Cezannes (the prodigal son of Aix). But the other day the mystery was solved as I discovered a second building a few blocks away  holding a full collection given to the museum by a painter and art advisor named Jean Planque. In a beautifully renovated space that had been a church were many well laid out Picasso paintings, as well as those by Dufy, Van Gogh, Dubuffet, Bonnard, Klee, Monet, Degas, etc. It's a pretty special collection and for me was the perfect size. It made me realize I need to have my own Picasso in order to contemplate it regularly which I know will lead to a better understanding and appreciation. It would hang either where I have breakfast or in the bathroom, preservation and conservation be damned.

Not quite as world class but delightful was the Museum of Old Aix, which took half an hour to go through, not because it wasn't interesting, but because it was small. It's set in an Hotel de Ville, as the large old houses are called,  and had a nice collection of mechanical sentons, which are huge business here at Christmas time.  It is next door to another Hotel, which is prized for its dramatic staircase, illustrated with all the academic disciplines.  Also attended was the Tapestry Museum but the only kept me for 15 minutes, an odd mixture of the greyhound/hunt variety from way back when, and pink macrame. 

I particularly love this santon because of what appears to be intentionally only two teeth. Also, he looks French.

You can see the mechanics. Also, I'm charmed by a camel in chintz flowers

Hallway at the Vieux Aix

Magnificent staircase

MFK Fisher has been making me picture things in Marseille, so back I went to visit  Longchamps, a crazy place that I suppose I should look up to understand better but haven't.and won't. There were many tourists and I was able to help one North African man by taking some photos of him in front of fountains. No, thank you, I don't need one of me.

Longchamps, an odd and confusing place

​After that, it was a quick stop into the Reformée church, which is pretty inside and deceptively new, and then to Maison Empereur, a shop that I could have spent a week in. I was pulled in by the high quality kitchen equipment but stayed for the funny Marseillaise household items, clothes and jelly sandals. It was alarming to find out I've somehow survived this long without a fruit and vegetable minder! #plans

Fruit and vegetable minder

​A quick slice at Pizza Charly in Noailles, which was delicious, but didn't even make Marseille's competitive top 20 list. Good plain slices are hard to come by, and I found it interesting they fold it before handing it over, but it worked. When I asked for hot pepper, my slice was doused with some kind of oil that provided no apparent flavor or heat.

Door of church in Eguilles

​A bus visit to Eguilles gave me the gift of sitting in a tiny little church while the organ master perhaps rehearsed for Easter this Sunday, playing a riff over and over, humming along, not aware of my presence. It's a quiet and peaceful town up on a hill looking out over the valley westwards. But not much to do there. On the way back, I saw again the mall where the bus inspectors had jumped on and demanded my receipt, which I wasn't able to provide because I paid with my phone, so had to pay twice. After reading an email written by the French food blogger David Leibovitz about how much the French love their monster supermarkets, I decided to walk back to the dreaded location and check one out. It is perhaps larger, square footage wise, than Costco, and had an array of goods similar to that of a large Target, though with significantly more fresh food. Overwhelmed, I bought some Milka Easter eggs and apero crackers with conte, and headed on home.  

Dove Update:  The dove (ok, she might be a pigeon, turns out there's no difference, but I like to think of her as a dove. She makes such a soothing sound) is in the nest outside my kitchen 24/7 now. At first her name was Pascal, but I've changed it to Solange, we have become friends. After a few windy days, I've learned she's not alarmed by shutters banging, nor my movements nearby. Research tells me that her likely two eggs will hatch in about another week and a half.  If you're curious as I was about fertilization happens, here is what I found out. The male mounts the female from behind while fluttering his wings for balance and support. In this position, their cloacas come into contact with one another in what appears as a gentle kiss—a momentary joining that facilitates sexual reproduction.

Thems some hard working feet