This week finds me renting a small flat in Provence with two of my closest friends. Ann and I were joined by our friend Julie who's been woofing in Denmark for the last two months. Our week has been filled so far with cooking, talking, hiking, and drinking wine. On Sunday we hiked up the mountain behind our little village and watched a storm come in across the vineyard-dappled valley. A tearing wind ruffled our clothes and large drops of rain fell onto our upturned faces. I was out of breath, having run up the last bit of the hike to reach the summit before the storm, and I felt so alive I thought my heart would burst. My friends, the fresh air, the storm, the incredible lighting in the valley - it all filled me to the point of explosion. Had I more time to write, I would post some thoughts about living and pain and travel and Christianity and any of the other thousand topics that have fueled our conversations this week. More important than these thoughts, I am learning the importance of experiencing events and emotions without constant reflexion and analysis, of living in the moment because this moment is where life happens.
As I returned from a walk this morning, a man in the street (who knows that I am American from a prior conversation) greeted me with the words, "we can do it!" This seems to sum up the French sentiment around the recent election results. People are hopeful here today, and I find that - at least for today - I have lost my former reluctance to admit my country of origin.
Other news: I've taken to buying a daily baguette and eating cheese for dessert after dinner. Julie was remarking today about the fact that everything we've been eating over the last month has been real food, not food products like we tend to eat so often in America. I love the markets, I love the fresh vegetables, I love the community created by shared cuisine. I will miss the south.
