And what are some differences in Aix? Let’s take French food. Why is it different? In Aix en Provence, almost all the food is local. Vegetables you see at the markets, come from nearby farms. Likewise, bread comes from any of the many bakeries on nearly every street, not like the U.S. bakeries /chemical factories.
Even jams and such are made there, likewise cheeses, and judging by my breakfast, bacon (which is wonderful) came from a farm close enough to hear oinking. Do I sound a little bitter about American food standards? Damn right I am.
I once heard a French woman say: I won’t buy a vegetable that doesn’t have dirt on it. I say keep it going, baby!
Why stop now? Let’s keep blithering onward!
The people here dress well, unlike many of my American friends, who think tee-shirts and flipflops are just fine for weddings and funerals. Also, American men don’t shave their beards or cut their hair. Washing optional. Table manners? Don’t be disgusting! French may have long hair and beards, but those are mostly older men and they keep themselves well groomed.
Do I dare mention that even at schools, the kids dress well? Let us pray.
Another thing about Aix, in my weak and unsettled mind, I find wandering the streets, and sitting in lovely cafes, sipping and casually watching the passersby is a wonderful pastime. For me it beats being whisked quickly this way and that, trailing a group and guide to the places I “should go see.”
For me, there is more to be said about piddling, stopping at my leisure, looking and tarrying on the old cobbled streets, glancing up at old buildings, and stopping here and there to watch the locals. It gives me the feeling that I am really here. For me, roaming is a part of the reason I came. I converse with the locals, mostly short conversations, but that’s enough to get a few similes.
Being an art aficionado I also like to roam museums. Museums are not for rushing in and out. I watch. Read. Ask. And come back tomorrow to do it again.
By the way, this city was the home of Cézanne, one of the leaders of Impressionism. You might ask, where did the word impressionism come from? But that and more about Cézanne comes in the next Blog, if you can stand the wait.
How about the city itself. Too easy to dance away, keep moving, without a bare nudge to history. Too much for a simpleton like me to guide your way, but yes, the Romans were here well before Christ was even a boy. Then came this tribe and that one, and medieval times and lots of wars. Just ask the English. Through may wars, they thought France was theirs, until France settled the question. And of course, the Germans tiptoed in and out, leaving death and trash behind.
Now I will push my opinions aside and show you what I just told you about. No chance. I can push, but opinions won’t go away. Here’s a tip for American ladies. If you want to be slim, right down to size zero, become French. And latching on to the sweet French accent and grabbing some beautifully fashioned clothes would work wonders.
What a lovely city, Aix en Provence is! The old city, with narrow streets and stone buildings slide you into times long gone. Admire the heavy architecture, dream your dreams and try not to notice the cars parked on every street.
As you walk and ponder, I will sip my crème café, even if the rain does its best. Take a moment to look at my photos.
Plenty of time. I just ordered another: la même chose. I said it, and the waiter understood! By golly I’ll sleep well tonight and to heck with my high school French teacher! Being understood beats the hell out of getting through a useless test.
By the way, the city is pronounced X. Sounds more like “eggs” to me.
Of course, no city is perfect. In Aix, if you’re in the mood to be rundown, plenty of bicycles and skateboards are there for you. Just the right place to see what God thinks about you.
Or, maybe you want your last words to be “MOTORCYCLE!!”, followed by a very loud “SHIT!” What the heck, I didn’t die. And I will go back. Soon as I can.
