Night Two-Hundred and Thirty-Seven

ça arrive


Arriver is a such a useful French verb. You can arrive at an accomplishment or comprehension of how to do something, people and things arrive, of course, when they come toward you from away, and the expression "ça arrive" means something a little like "shit happens", which we say too, but the French (having invented the idea) say it better.

Arriver is the perfect verb for my life right now. J'arrive, ils arriveront, et, oui, ça arrive.

Night Two-Hundred and Twenty-Four

but wait, there's more

Today was the day that I was supposed to get on an airplane and fly back home. But yesterday, on night two-hundred and twenty-three, I instead found myself back on that familiar TGV from Paris to Aix (and then stranded, briefly, in the Aix train station, but that's another story) and now, as I type this, I am looking out the window at this:



I can't imagine that there is anyone reading my blog who doesn't already know the story behind why I'm still in Manosque. But, if you're out there, lurking, and you want to know, I guess you'd better either declare yourself or learn to live with the mystery. At any rate, I'll be here.

Night Two-Hundred and Nineteen

wednesday night still life


Packing for Paris, where I am going tomorrow.

Night Two-Hundred and Sixteen

les chanceuses

It’s funny when you know something is coming for a long time and then it comes.

We are at the beach. We have been planning this trip for months. It was alternately intended to happen in Sardignia, Italy, Portugal, and Spain, but in the end we just drove a couple of hours south and rented a mobile home in a sprawling campground near a construction zone (so THAT’s why it was so cheap…) It is too windy, and when the wind dies down it’s too buggy, but it doesn’t matter. We’ve had seven months of what feels like the best luck the universe could muster, savoring our small-town dorm life like a group of international princesses on a hotplate vacation. Now we are very close to the end, and we just needed a place to enjoy our girlhood one last time before we all run off to grow up (okay, I’m really speaking for my old self here. The other three have a ways to go, yet.) Anyway, this mobile home (I’m sorry, mo-beel ome) will do.

I remember as a teenager often feeling that I had just missed out on the really good part. Like something wonderful had always seemed to have happened just before I got there, and all that was left were the older kids exaggerated recollections of how amazingly cool it had been (they had been freshman at the time, their perspectives therefore hopelessly skewed by their noses pressed against the glass). Probably things are never quite as good as they seem through the eyes of former high school freshmen. Still, I have caught myself more than once in the last few months feeling as if I was really truly (finally!) in the golden moment, exactly where I was supposed to be exactly when I was supposed to be there. And you know what? It really was as good as they said.

So, this is the beginning of the end. Tomorrow we head back to Manosque, and a few days after that suitcases will be packed and rooms emptied for the last time. We are sentimental, here at the beach, and resistant to the sentimentality, as if we might be able to slow the earth’s rotation through denial. Last night, as we were walking home from dinner, one of us sighed and said “Oh, girls…” and another one blurted out “Horse!” It worked. We were successfully distracted into a discussion about the French words for horse and hair and how easy it is to confound the plural forms (“first week mistakes, girls, first week mistakes”, our linguist chided).

There are new first weeks on the horizon, with new first week mistakes. Will our luck follow each of us home, or will it disperse as our proximity decreases, like wonder-quad powers? There’s no telling. We will pack our bags, we will get on buses and trains and planes, and we will see how far this fortune can stretch.

Happy Birthday Emmett!

night one-hundred and ninety-six



Welcome to the family. We are so glad you're finally here.

Night One-Hundred and Ninety-Two

la vitesse

How can thirty-five days have passed since my last post?

We all seem to be experiencing an inverse relationship between the lengthening spring days and our perceptions of the passage of time. We have started to talk about the end, and after, and we are at once already departed and more here than we have ever been.

Things have happened. A full recap is obviously out of the question, so I’m just going to pick some photos that I like and use them as an outline:

Sunday, February 15th, Café de la Poste, Manosque, France



That’s the post office there in the reflection. Right after I took this, two old men called me over to their table (and I went, as I am wont to do when old men call me over, as they are wont to do) and I somehow managed to incite an argument between them about Sarkozy, the watching of which was an entertaining way to spend an hour.

Thursday, February 19th, my dorm room, Manosque, France


Here’s Matt, taking a well-deserved rest after 20 hours of airplane and bus travel.

Friday, February 20th, Manosque, France


I live here.

Saturday, February 21st, Rocher de Bellevue, Saignon, France


About sixty seconds after I took this picture we decided to get married here.

Saturday, February 21st, St. Remy de Provence, France


Later that same day in St. Remy. I just like this picture.

Sunday, February 22nd, Manosque, France


We took advantage of having access to a real kitchen and threw a dinner party. Unfortunately, I forgot that everything is closed on Sunday, and ended up having to improvise dinner for 9 people with whatever I could scrounge from our dorm cupboard. We ended up having gluten-free taglietelli with baby artichokes, jambon, and chevre, an herbed pork loin (fortuitously purchased Saturday) cooked in (slightly aged) apples, roasted potatoes, salad, and a beautiful apple tart made my Linda. It was decidedly not my most successful culinary effort ever, but we didn’t starve (for food or good company).

Monday, February 23rd, somewhere in Provence, France


Goats!

Tuesday, February 24th, Amsterdam, Netherlands

I loved Amsterdam and took a gazillion pictures. Here are three:






These swans have a strong sense of irony.

Saturday, February 28th, Clessé, France


We spent two lovely days at the home of our friends Xavier and Regan in the wine country in Eastern France.

And then we all piled in le camping car and made our way, via Annecy…



to Switzerland.

Sunday, March 1st, somewhere in the Valais region of Switzerland


The Swiss wine makers have squeezed grape vines into every available square inch of their steep steep fields. It’s kind of amazing.

It was fun hanging out with Regan and Xavier and camping out by the side of Lake Geneva, but Switzerland was cold and expensive, and we were happy to get back to sunny Provence.

Saturday, March 7th, Roussillon, France

]

And eat one last time at our favorite place in Eygalières, where we managed to become regulars in the space of two weeks.



Monday, March 9th, Manosque, France



On Matt’s last day in Manosque, we all went up to the top of Mont d’Or…



…and had a chilly picnic.

Sunday, March 15th, Reillanne, France

The following Sunday, I was invited over by one of the professors who I work with for the most gorgeous Sunday lunch with her most gorgeous family.



March 15th was (supposedly) the last day for burning in our department (I have noticed that not everyone got the memo). Here’s Cris’ husband Alfie taking advantage.



Wednesday, March 18th, Saignon, France



Last Wednesday me and my posse rolled into Saignon to do some wedding business. We sat and had drinks at the Auberge next to this fountain, and, when the girls ordered sirops, the incredibly kind woman who was serving us brought out a pitcher, held it under the running stream of the fountain, and plunked it down on our table. It tasted extra good.

Friday, March 20th, the dorm hallway, Manosque, France

Which brings us to this past Friday, when we invited some friends over for another whatever-was-left-in-the-fridge dinner. We had potatoes baked in crème fraiche with gruyere, a zucchini fritatta, salad, pasta Bolognese (by Carmen, of course), and Mars ice-cream bars and champagne for dessert. Afterward, we did the only thing you can do when you find yourself forced to confront the inexorable march of time and (as Carmen beautifully put it as we were walking home late from the cinema a few days later) “le futur inconnu”: we danced.

Night One-Hundred and Fifty-Seven

on attende



Me and this dog, we're both waiting for something (though me with significantly more enthusiasm). Matt gets here in 4 hours...