From France, to wherever you’re reading, hello.
To introduce Aix-en-Provence, I must first introduce your narrator.
Picture a little girl in brown pigtails. You know, just a typical eight year old, who likes fairies and the Cars movies and running around in the backyard with her two brothers. What do you think she’d request for her birthday?
New colored pencils? A stuffed animal? Perhaps one of those barbie secret passcode journals that you unlock with a password.
I requested a beret. A French one, a real one.
It has been and always was a dream of mine to come to France. I don’t really know where it stemmed from, but I think the idealized version of a place filled with baguettes and the love of life was quite tempting.
So that brings me to, well, Provence. Aix was founded by Romans in 122 BC, but I’ve been here about five weeks now. I took a direct flight to my hopes and dreams. It’s full of tall buildings, narrow cobblestone streets, and so much history you can (and I might) write a book on it. There’s these little metal indicators of the daily path that the artist Cézanne took as he strolled the promenade, and markets three days a week. It’s mainly students here, but the population is wide and diverse and a lot more casually involved in life itself.
I walk past buildings with ‘1618’ stamped on the side, and it takes me a second to process that. The cathedrals are detailed and beautiful beyond compare. I’ve wandered into galleries, tasted croissants and gelatos, and waltzed around the Cours Mirabeau. I’ve been able to take slight excursions to all different places on the coast, including Cassis Port, Saint-Maries-de-la-Mer, and St. Tropez. I’ll be heading to the Velcludes for a day trip to learn about the architecture of the town, and the local monastery. It’s safe to say, I’m living in a storybook. I certainly am filling up the cameras I bought, with little saint statues on the corners of the buildings and people dancing in their apartments, framed with the iconic blue shutters.
I have this wonderful host mother, named Anne. We share Madelines over coffee. My host is kind, sweet, and laughs easily. Her daily routines are a complete envy of mine, and I love her dearly. She is quick to laugh, patient to understand, and won’t ever let me do the dishes (though I thoroughly try). It’s about a 20 minute walk to the city center for me, which I opt for, but when returning I take the bus. A relatively efficient system, though you have to hail it like a taxi when you need to hop on. Dinners happen later, so I’m able to catch the late news with her too, to stay up to date and practice my French. My roommate is actually from CU Boulder, and we’re able to bond over music and the gorgeous St. Victoire mountain that we are eyeing for a hike.
My French isn’t that of a local, obviously, but I’ve gotten a few choice phrases down.
« Je voudrais un café décaféiné et un croissant s’il vous plait. »
That one is heavily repped, I hate to admit. I am in love with the phrases and words and sometimes sounds that people use to express themselves. A sigh, a shrug, a « ca marche » (it works). I love it all, and find myself slipping into it when I can. Chatting with my host has been the best practice of all.
Overall, I find myself all the more present. I put my oldies French music playlist to work, don’t get me wrong, but there’s something about walking around a town that is far older than the country you were born in that is so fascinating.
One of the other DU Abroad bloggers is with me, too! You should check Marley Flanagan in the DU Abroad Bloggers section. We’ve been having a blast together, exploring the town and eating our weight in croissants. I’m quickly loving having a diverse range of friends from all over, who are all undoubtably down for an adventure.
I’m studying art here, and every day I get to paint or draw to my heart’s content. I would say our work is similar to the impressionist era, of course, we’re in the space that it was born. I get to sit out in fields, watching the seasons change as I try to capture them in oil paints and pencils.
I write more. I read more. I’m collecting postcards to embellish with stamps and send on their merry way. I sit in parks to draw, and listen carefully to the chatter of passersby. I love watching people play the game of pétanque, and may have tried it a bit myself.
And so, my dearest reader, I bring this rêve to a close. I will write you as soon as I can, and with matched passion. In the meantime, I’ll be heading to the beach to peer at the linens, try gelato, and start living life at the pace it should be.
Want to keep up with my adventures in photos? Follow @ouaiscestmae on Instagram, and if you want more to read, check out The Memo on Substack!
Thanks for reading, and à bientôt!
