Avignon
After four years of separation, I paid a visit to old stomping grounds in Avignon, a beautiful city in the Provence famous for a Palace of the Popes, where the Popes lived for almost all of the 14th century and a bridge that only makes it halfway across the Rhone river. It was night but I sat outside Red Sky (formerly known as The Red Lion) to jot down a few thoughts. It is amazing how warm it was there. That morning I walked to the train station with my raincoat and umbrella skipping over puddles and then, allthough the sun had set, it was warm enough to sit outside under the clear night sky. My train drove right into beautiful spring sunshine and warm temperatures.
My belly was full from dinner chez les Jauffrets, my host family during the 5 months I went to school here. It was very nice to see them and I think they were happy to see me. We chatted for a while about what I do, what i've been up to in the last four years, my family, my progress in french including, preferred authors and television shows. Michelle quickly slipped back into her role as host mother recommending books to read and reminding me that newscasters speak very proper french and to watch the news often.
Paul cooked. Salad with homemade sausage like stuff. Omelette. Chevre. Tartes aux Pommes. It was delicious. After dinner, I thanked them both and said goodbye eager to take a stroll around the city and dredge up a few memories. Michelle had swept me from the train station into their apartment, with barely a glance at Rue de la Republique and the manege, and I hadn't had an opportunity to orient myself before I was in their living room drinking oj.
The exit brought it all back. Down the back steps past my old front door, down the wide stairwell and out into stray cats playground. I looked up. The light was on in Alice's old room. My window was dark and so was the shadowy part I knew was the sunroom, and beside it the terrace where I spent many afternoons watching the skinny cats climb all over the courtyard. Bisous to Michelle. Around the corner to the right, left, and through the gate. Immedietely I felt confident. The root to my old school, the way to the epicerie that was always open no matter what hour of the day or holiday it was. The palace, Place Pi, rue des truileries. Delirium, Red Zone, Cubanitos. I found all of it.
Some of the bars had changed. The old cafe where I used to stand at the bar with an espresso each morning before school after Babalou's reheated carbon catastrophe didn't do the trick. It was now a restaurant. The tapas bar where we used to spend happy hour before retreating to dinner with our respective host families. That was still there. The Chinese restaurant's still there that offered a full meal for €5. It was packed. I drank it all in. I saw the carnival that Alice organized when I stood out front of the palace. I remembered waiting for my parents to arrive in their rental car in Place d'Horlage. I remembered my 20th birthday when I rode home from the party on the back of Justin's bicycle. The memories flooded back. After I was there, it didn't really seem like so long ago, that I was in Avignon, my first time in France, my first time in Europe, my first stamp on my passport. Travelling was different for me then. It was scarier. Newer. I'd barely spoken a word of French when I'd arrived, and now, it's natural, like a second tongue that comes out whenever I want it.
Sitting outside Red Sky, surrounded by young french students, waiting for Dan to arrive, I felt a bit selfconcious. The sent of spliffs and cigars wafted under my nose. I felt like a stranger. This wasn't my city any more, but I still knew my way around. Avignon was my first. And you never forget your first.
Saturday we went to Marseille to celebrate a birthday. Picnic in Les Callanques. Dinner in a Senegalese place. Night out around the docks. We went back to Fabian's families home to sleep around 6 in the morning. We woke up the next afternoon and were immediately ushered upstairs to a full French lunch of couscous, chicken, lamb, veggies, wine, cheese, and another Tarte aux Pommes!
Later that day, back in Marseille, Dan headed back to Avignon and I found an artsy theater and watched two films before catching the midnight train back to Pamiers. It was a great weekend!
My belly was full from dinner chez les Jauffrets, my host family during the 5 months I went to school here. It was very nice to see them and I think they were happy to see me. We chatted for a while about what I do, what i've been up to in the last four years, my family, my progress in french including, preferred authors and television shows. Michelle quickly slipped back into her role as host mother recommending books to read and reminding me that newscasters speak very proper french and to watch the news often.
Paul cooked. Salad with homemade sausage like stuff. Omelette. Chevre. Tartes aux Pommes. It was delicious. After dinner, I thanked them both and said goodbye eager to take a stroll around the city and dredge up a few memories. Michelle had swept me from the train station into their apartment, with barely a glance at Rue de la Republique and the manege, and I hadn't had an opportunity to orient myself before I was in their living room drinking oj.
The exit brought it all back. Down the back steps past my old front door, down the wide stairwell and out into stray cats playground. I looked up. The light was on in Alice's old room. My window was dark and so was the shadowy part I knew was the sunroom, and beside it the terrace where I spent many afternoons watching the skinny cats climb all over the courtyard. Bisous to Michelle. Around the corner to the right, left, and through the gate. Immedietely I felt confident. The root to my old school, the way to the epicerie that was always open no matter what hour of the day or holiday it was. The palace, Place Pi, rue des truileries. Delirium, Red Zone, Cubanitos. I found all of it.
Some of the bars had changed. The old cafe where I used to stand at the bar with an espresso each morning before school after Babalou's reheated carbon catastrophe didn't do the trick. It was now a restaurant. The tapas bar where we used to spend happy hour before retreating to dinner with our respective host families. That was still there. The Chinese restaurant's still there that offered a full meal for €5. It was packed. I drank it all in. I saw the carnival that Alice organized when I stood out front of the palace. I remembered waiting for my parents to arrive in their rental car in Place d'Horlage. I remembered my 20th birthday when I rode home from the party on the back of Justin's bicycle. The memories flooded back. After I was there, it didn't really seem like so long ago, that I was in Avignon, my first time in France, my first time in Europe, my first stamp on my passport. Travelling was different for me then. It was scarier. Newer. I'd barely spoken a word of French when I'd arrived, and now, it's natural, like a second tongue that comes out whenever I want it.
Sitting outside Red Sky, surrounded by young french students, waiting for Dan to arrive, I felt a bit selfconcious. The sent of spliffs and cigars wafted under my nose. I felt like a stranger. This wasn't my city any more, but I still knew my way around. Avignon was my first. And you never forget your first.
Saturday we went to Marseille to celebrate a birthday. Picnic in Les Callanques. Dinner in a Senegalese place. Night out around the docks. We went back to Fabian's families home to sleep around 6 in the morning. We woke up the next afternoon and were immediately ushered upstairs to a full French lunch of couscous, chicken, lamb, veggies, wine, cheese, and another Tarte aux Pommes!
Later that day, back in Marseille, Dan headed back to Avignon and I found an artsy theater and watched two films before catching the midnight train back to Pamiers. It was a great weekend!
posted by emily at 11:22 AM
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