Home

I've been home for a whirlwind of 10 days.

In those 10 days these important things happened:

Painting (at odd hours of the morning--thank you jet lag)
and moving into my condo

Cartel Coffee--repeat many times

A 1920s themed get-together

A 3-day trip to Long Beach

Beans and tortillas at the best Mexican place in town

115 degree heat
113 degree heat
116 degree heat

^Biking in said weather^

And seeing many familiar faces

Feels like Phoenix.

Marché

I think one of the biggest compliments someone gave me was calling me

A farmer's market girl--

I'm pretty sure I was radiant.

It's true. I love open air, live markets where you can actually buy food that is barcode free and tastes real from people who remember your face and thankfully, here, they happen everyday.

Yes, everyday.

Some days, I want to pull up a chair and simply watch.

Today there was a mess of people between the 2 markets in adjacent plazas and amidst the mass crowd, vendor booths overflowed with "solde" items, and musicians played on street corners.


All on the same street, the size of one lane--if that.

For me, being here as obviously a foreigner, the market has given me a sense of a foundation--
a place where I feel "at home".

By now, I've cultivated a couple relationships with various vendors:

I buy olives from a man who perpetually whistles a delightful tune and always asks "Comment ça va?"

I'm teased by a vendor for wearing my green beret in the middle of summer.

A couple, whom run a organic farm, sneaks "extra" goodies into my sack like fresh figs and green plums. I think this is their way of insuring that I come back for more--

It works.

I ran into Ashmi (another vendor) during the National Holiday and was greeted with a standard 2-kiss greeting and felt utterly "known" and a sense of belonging.

I'm certainly not ready to leave this "home" and

Goodbyes are hard.

Returning

Are you eating?

Shortly after I moved to Aix, I called my parents to tell them, "just in case they were worried about me" that everything was fine and I had successfully secured a roof over my head. My father's next question was something like this:

Are you eating?

Yes, I've been eating.

Very, very well.

Bordeaux and Arcachon

This past week, I spent a couple days touring Bordeaux with a dear friend from Tempe who spent a portion of his childhood summers playing among the winding streets, riding his grandfather's bike, and getting lost himself.

I'm already trying to calculate the maximum number of bottles I can bring back

From Bordeaux we rode the train to Arcachon, where a friend of his lives and we spent the next two days on the beach, watching storms roll in on the horizon, and took a couple tours on the boat. Not to mention amazing dinners at some wonderful restaurants.

L'été

 

Summer has arrived and thus many shops are closed. 

 

Fermé.

For weeks.

Or months. 

If one works 35 hours a week in France, it is mandatory to take 5 weeks vacation every year.

Mandatory

No ifs, ands, or buts. 

Claquer

Slamming doors.

They will stay in France

Every last one of them.

My apartment has these wind tunnel traps:
If I have my balcony doors open as well as the kitchen balcony doors, my door slams shut.

CLACK!!

I think this is one of the first verbs I learned:

claquer-to "clack" or bang

aka: the sound that literally makes you jump in your seat,

catch your breath,
and makes your heart stop

All at the same time.