I realize that I have not posted in many days, so sorry about that to anyone who just really needs to know the details of my day-to-day. I will fill you in.
A group of three Americans approached me in front of the cathedral and asked me in broken French to take a picture of them. They thought I was French. I obliged them and took their picture, and I absolutely did not indicate that I was also American. I put a French accent on my de rien and went on my way. It was thrilling.
There is a café here that is run by two Brits. All the books are in English, which was jarring. I walked in expecting to pick up some French copies of books I like, but there were none to be found. This marks the first time while in Aix that I have been frustrated to see English.
As of this writing, it is Saturday, the day of the grand market. It’s like a flea market, but you can’t buy livestock. You can get vinyl, prom dresses, stockings, knickknacks, and of course fresh produce. No piglets, roosters, or rabbits in the whole place. Limestone has them beat for that.
There is now a dog in my homestay. His name is Bouf and he is 18, blind, and deaf. We are best friends.
Some people are planning to go down to Marseille today. I might go, might not. Getting a bus pass is a pain, and besides, I’ve only discovered about a tenth of what Aix has to offer. I want to sit in the cathedral for a couple hours, or tour the workshop of Cezanne, or ask this elderly man next to me why he is chewing a stalk of rosemary. I have never seen that. Is that a French thing? He is wearing earbuds but his music is really loud and he’s listening to the Rocky soundtrack.
I am back at a café I visited a couple days ago. The waiter knows me now. I don’t remember if I wrote about him, but he’s the one who threatened my life for eating bread to quickly. We have developed a nice rapport. He keeps using English with me, so I told him that I am a student and therefore must practice my French. He said that he must practice his English. We will see who wins this. We shall see, Monsieur!
Malvina (homestay mother) does not cook for us on the weekend, as per the program contract, so last night I went to a boulangerie and bought a baguette and a jar of strawberry jam. I didn’t realize what I was doing until I was walking home. Like the moment with the Americans, I felt a thrill.
I bought honey and a blanket in the market. You can get anything there; it’s better than Ingles and Walmart combined.
Being in the South of France, the culture of Aix is nearly as Italian as it is French. There are also Spanish influences, but Italy is everywhere. The architecture, the local dialect, the mannerisms of the people — I am reminded of Rome.
Poverty is different here. In America, the rich do not live near the poor. They have distant, spacious communities far away from the poor folks. Here, grand mansions sit a street across the block from run-down apartment buildings.
Well, those are all of my thoughts for the moment. I have several more posts queued up, so apologies for the infodump your inbox is about to receive.
Cordialement,
Allison
P.S.: Please for the love of all that is good and holy somebody mail me some teriyaki beef jerky.
Flan in France 