Postcard from Provence

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Let me set the scene: The country house, a modest place covered in a bit of strangling ivy, sits on a forested hill somewhere in Alpes de Haute-Provence, surrounded by small fields of golden wheat, a patch of vineyard, and stands of pear and fig trees. The view into the valley below includes swaths of bright lavender and picturesque villages perched on rock promontories. About ten people are clustered around a table set under a tree in the garden, the sun streaming through the leaves and dappling the cheese, bread, and wine spread on the oilcloth. A woman plays the accordion; a bearded man strums a guitar in accompaniment. Others, while playing cards, sing along when they recognize the tunes. Not far away, another group toss shiny pétanque balls at a walnut-sized target inexplicably called a “little pig”. The tableau could not be more French. Indeed, it could be a tourist ad for France.

This “snapshot” is of a gathering of friends that had converged on the country house to enjoy a long holiday weekend - in celebration of La Fête Nationale (better known States-side as Bastille Day) - a getaway in which I had the privilege of taking part, tagging along with my hosts from Aix. As the only américain (and non-French speaking at that), I at times felt like an anthropologist, trying to decipher the fascinating customs of a somewhat familiar, yet at the same time utterly alien, culture. But it wasn’t all observation; the group, despite my anglophone-ness, were wonderfully hospitable, warmly inviting me into this intimate weekend.

They patiently taught me the byzantine rules of their favorite card game, an elaborate affair called tarot (no relation to fortune-telling!), and the only slightly less complicated rules for pétanque (similarly to Italian bocce). To their amazement – as well as my own! – I proceeded to win both games, despite only having the shakiest of ideas of what I was doing. I even was sought out as a partner in rounds of pétanque. (Others, however, joked that they should send the American away!)

When not playing games, everyone pitched in to prepare our meals, languorous events that occurred al fresco, and then to clean up. It felt a bit like living in a remote Provencal commune.

And I couldn’t have picked a better way to wrap up two glorious weeks in the south of France.

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Some of my friends have noted that Europe does not seem very “me” in terms of travel destinations. But I beg to differ. Yes, while I am often more inclined to visit the far-flung corners of this wonderful earth, those spots often well off the tourist radar screen (Turkmenistan, anyone?), I also very much enjoy an occasional jaunt on the “Continent”. Yes, it is “easier” traveling in Europe compared to some of my other recent destinations (Ethiopia, Djibouti, not to mention my home in Sudan), but sometimes that’s only on the surface. It can be a humbling experience to navigate the ins and outs of a French supermarket if one doesn’t know the local lingo, for one! Anyway, I think I need variety in my travel experiences to keep my mental balance. I am sure that I would grow restless living for too long in a place like beautiful Provence, despite all the amazing food and its gorgeous weather. But if I only had the challenges of life in hot, dusty Khartoum looming ahead, I might grow a little stir-crazy, too! This summer has actually turned out to a perfect mix in this respect – a little Africa, a little Europe. Voila!

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My two weeks in the south of France, based in lovely Aix-en-Provence, included a little urban exploration – Marseille, Nice, Monaco, etc. – and some country time – a couple days in the mountains of Alpes-Maritimes and the weekend in Alpes Haute-de-Provence (described above). I ate well; I drank well. I relaxed with a novel or two. I tried to twist my tongue around the new French words I was learning.

How could I not have enjoyed my time in France?

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