Baudelaire. I don’t remember anything else contained in my college essay save this single word. Baudelaire. I was mesmerized with how the word rolled off my tongue. I felt confident everyone would believe my “frenchness” when they heard this word uttered from my very anglophone lips. To my 18 year old self this was super important. Having spent my junior year of high school abroad in a tiny village in the provence of Quebec, I was obsessed with all things French. I had yet to travel across the pond to France but it didn’t stop me from donning my beret and believing I was the embodiment of a true Parisian.
I finally did make it across the pond and France did not disappoint. I have often heard comments about the aloofness of the french people and have never found this to be true. That being said, respect for the culture and the language will go a long way. Your cost for a cafe may go up exponentially if your sentence does not begin with Bonjour Madame, and end with merci beaucoup.
A few years ago my husband and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary. He loves to bike and I, thirty years later, am still obsessed with all things French. What better way to celebrate our years of marital bliss than a biking tour in southern France. We chose to go with a company whose website contained endless photos of smiling people, backdropped against landscapes worthy of a National Geographic cover. They also offered a trip entitled “secret provence” with the following caption: “Each of your senses will take a journey through this remarkable landscape. Gaze across undulating meadows. Run your hands over centuries-old stones. Hear a trickling fountain in the town square as you savor a slice of fresh melon. Open the windows and let the scent of endless lavender fields waft through your dreams.” They had me at lavender.
Stepping off the train in Avignon we had no idea what to expect from the week ahead besides gazing across undulating meadows and nibbling on melon. My husband had never been to France so, after spending the previous day in Paris, his senses were already on overload. We were welcomed at the train station by Dominique. Imagine a greek god. Now imagine that greek God speaking french and wearing spandex. That was Dom, as I now refer to him. I was hoping to be greeted with the typical provencal three cheek kiss, but no such luck.
We hopped onto a bus which would take us to the small village of Auribeau. The only inhabitants of this village appeared to be a family of cats who joined us for our picnic lunch. Where were all the people? They couldn’t all be out harvesting lavender! I was ecstatic, my social anxiety does not extend into the animal kingdom so I was immediately at ease.
After eating and getting a quick lesson on how to ride our bikes (I felt slightly concerned for those needing a lesson on how to ride a bike after booking a week long bike trip) we biked through the village of Saigon towards the perched village of Bonnieux where we would be spending our first night. I might add I promptly fell off my bike after attempting to clip in riding uphill. Perhaps I should have paid closer attention during the bike lesson.
Six other couples would be joining us for the week and this first evening was spent getting to know one another. Although this trip was not my first sober travel experience, it was the first where I would be interacting extensively with other humans. That was a bit terrifying. As we sat down to enjoy our first meal as a group I paid close attention to what everyone was drinking. I am still in awe of people who purchase one bottle of wine and split it between four individuals. There was no one over indulging or staying up later to keep the party going and not one person questioned why I was not pouring myself a glass of wine.
The remainder of the week was spent enjoying early morning runs through fields of lavender, sage and poppies. We ate baguettes and pastries and cheese and tomatoes right of the vine. We pedaled up hills to explore perched villages and were rewarded with views that went on for miles.
My senses were reawakened during this trip. Years of ending each evening with a glass (or two or three) of wine had diluted and dulled them, like a light switch which had been turned all the way down. I inhaled the scent of lavender as if it were my first time smelling. I sank my teeth into melon and savored its sweetness. I looked out over endless fields of sage and was in awe of the intensity of their beauty. I sat at each meal and listened and participated in conversations instead of tuning out. True to the caption, my senses were taken on a journey.
Three years later this trip remains a pivotal moment. This trip solidified the new truth: alcohol is not necessary to experience joy and connection. In fact it emphasized how it has the opposite effect. So many moments would not have been experienced had alcohol been involved.
My advice to anyone at the beginning of their journey, stop and smell the lavender (see what I did there). It doesn’t have to be a bike trip to the south of France that reignites your senses. Cook a meal with your kids. Go for a walk in the woods right after it rains. Take in a sunrise or a sunset. If you happen to enjoy all these things with a french speaking, spandex wearing, greek god, all the better.
