In Gordes

Slept marvellously last night. The air in Gordes is sweet; it’s quiet: birds, trees, wind. And I have my own bedroom, so I was able to unpack, put things away, see where everything is. I’m an orderly person and find hard the chaos of an overflowing suitcase. Where’s my hairbrush? Where’s that red scarf? Oh, I think I left it in Montpellier.

I first came to Gordes in 1979, as detailed in Loose Woman, to visit L and D, who were living in a rented house with their 3 small children and had recently founded a new L’Arche community. I arrived in June and to my surprise, stayed to live and work in the community until mid-November, a real immersion in French life. Subsequently the family bought land, built this big house, and had two more children. I brought my own kids to visit in 1997; in Midlife Solo, there’s an essay about that visit, where my kids learned the importance of sitting down to family meals, a lesson I think influenced them — both endlessly hospitable cooks — forever after.

I learn these things anew each time I come to France: taking time to cook a good meal, sit down to eat it, taste it, relish it. Taking time to present yourself well to the world. Thrift, yes, always thrift, great care with money. Appreciation of beauty, history, art. I always return enriched, except last year, when I was sick almost the entire time I was in France.

But this time, I’ve had all these different experiences — being solo, except for two meals with friends, for a week in the heart of Paris. Visiting a distant relative who’s right at home in a small town. Sleeping on the sofa of my best friend in the busy, crowded city of Montpellier. And now, back to this house I know so well, which has been gorgeously renovated, in a famous tourist town in Provence. In a few hours, the next phase: three teenaged grandchildren arrive from Lyon to spend 2 weeks, and their youngest daughter comes in from Marseille for Easter lunch tomorrow. The house will be noisy. (L and D have five other grandchildren, scattered around the world; these are the only ones in France.)

Final phase Tuesday, back to Paris for one night, dinner with old friends Suzette and Pierre who took over the rental of the apartment I was staying in; and finally, late Wednesday, a very long flight back to Toronto, landing at 11 p.m. which will be 5 a.m. Thursday my time. I will be a wreck. But I gather it’s spring there now. One of the joys of travelling to a milder climate in April is that I get to experience spring twice. The glorious profusion of pink Judas trees and mauve wisteria all over this country!

France is magnificent. Yes, there’s a ton wrong here, but as the saying goes, the French are a people who live in paradise and think they live in hell. They complain about everything and go on strike, yet they have one of the best healthcare systems in the world and mindblowing social services and benefits. The quality on display in grocery stores floors me, and how well-dressed people are, especially children. The French are also intolerant, unwelcoming to foreigners, narrow-minded, rigid. Things have to be done the way they’ve always been done.

But that’s changing, sometimes for the better, sometimes not. In the meantime, there’s a level of civilization, history, and beauty here that feeds the soul.

I think things will be busy; this might be my last post for a bit. Denis is off picking up the kids in Avignon; Lynn is preparing a large lunch. I will go help. Thank you for coming with me, my friends. A bientôt.

The view from my bedroom window when the shutters are pushed back.

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