It was one of those perfect early summer evenings. The sky was sending out les bisous d’or and there was just a faint enough breeze to play with the ends of my skirt.
My Mom had been telling me about the Top of the Park Festival, which takes place each summer on the University of Michigan campus in Ann Arbor, for years. She had her first date with Leonard – now her fiancé – there and had passed many a happy evening with my Sister as well, dancing under the stars.
Last Saturday evening, it was finally my turn. My Mom and I stocked up on a Mexican feast from one of the food stands set up by local restaurants and went to find Leonard, who was waiting…
…in an area under the trees called the Grove, where the fairy lights blinked and plastic tumblers of red wine awaited us. Just as we arrived, plates balanced precariously in hand, a family got up from where they were sitting at the front and center of the action and said, “We are leaving, do you want our spot?” It was one of those gifts that fall into place on such an evening. We smiled and offered copious thanks as they melted into the crowds.
As I settled in, I couldn’t help but be delighted with the calmness of the scene. People of all ages, races and styles chatted quietly with one another. Kids did cartwheels across the lawn. There was no pushing to be first in line or to procure seating closer to the stage, no frantic texting or gasping theatrically into cell phones. Perhaps I have been living in Europe for too long but it did surprise me, even though I grew up largely in the Midwest where we are known for our polite behavior. Such ease of conviviality, natural and without decorum, only added to the sweetness of the evening.
I think that it was Adam Gopnik who, in his excellent book “Paris to the Moon” nailed down the contrast that in New York you are anonymous and in Paris you are given the head to toe glance by each and every person that you pass. I had experienced the shock of that transition when I moved from Manhattan to France and am now used to that attention in Arles. At the Top of the Park, no one was particularly looking or not looking. We were all just there, together. And while the three of us were unanimous in our dislike for the main band – a let down after the swing of the Joe Summers Gypsy Jazz Trio that had opened for them – we didn’t mind leaving early, for we had already passed a wonderful moment on a perfect night, the simple peace of which I will not soon forget.
From a smaller venue at Top of the Park in 2011:
Many thanks to Leonard Wells, my Mom’s wonderful fiancé, who loaned me his snazzy Samsung Galaxy to take these photos. Alas, I forgot that I can’t download images from my trusty Canon on my laptop, so I will either continue sharing the posts from Provence that I had prepared in advance or smartphone snaps while I am in the States…
And I would also like to express my gratitude to the extremely generous David Terry, who has sent me two care packages of fascinating books to entertain me during the rest of my time in States and beyond…Merci, David!
Looks like an absolutely perfect evening. Mmmm, how I'd love a glass of wine… (haha! Couple more months for me!)
Clare x
Just as fascinating as the post itself, the comments about generalisations have really intrigued me. Some varied and valid points, especially those made by Silke Bauer, and also by the Hattat's. Here in Australia, I wouldn't dare to say we fit into one category or the other, because in some parts of the country people will stare, and in other parts they avoid a gaze. And that even varies in different parts of one city. But we are a very multi-cultural society, so of course our behaviour is a medley of our backgrounds.
On another note, I am sad that you aren't able to upload more posts of your adventures in the States, because they are truly interesting. (I love the observations of people's behaviour, it's one of the best things of travelling, even if it has commanded a lot of attention in the comments!)
And as for that Mexican feast on your picnic blanket….oh, yum, yum, yum!!
Oh, Heather….Annie Dillard used to live, for a couple of years, in this tiny, 6-street, 18th century town (which is STUFFED with Southern writers) . She's, of course, wonderful and brilliant and surprisingly prolific and all sorts of other fine things…..but she IS, as you might guess, intense.
A good friend of mine (who's also been a great admirer of Dillard's writings for decades) was her next-door neighbor. She very wryly tells of being initially quite excited to hear that Dillard was moving-in next-door, but eventually slipping into the habit of, as she was about to go out into her own yard, realizing that Dillard was in her own yard….and wondering "Oh Lord….do I have the energy for this, today?????". Annie is, as I said previously, a very i-n-t-e-n-s-e woman (that shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone who's read "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek" or the essays).
All of the above is meant as a compliment to Dillard, of course; she's simply not the sort with whom you can pass the time by making small talk (she doesn't DO "small talk" of any sort) about the weather or how your tomatoes are coming along. You can,indeed, bring up those topics, and she'll happily join in…..but it ends up being a three hour dissertation on the damned Existential MEANING and Implications of the weather or the state of your tomato plants.
In short?……she is not a simple woman…..but, if you've started the book, you've probably already figured that out.
—-david terry
In the manner of "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all" I will just reply with an additional book thank you as I started reading the Annie Dillard last night and the grounding peace in her language is a great comfort to me, David.
Oh are you back to swimming with your puppers? How lovely. I always appreciated that image of you back where you belong. 🙂 And even if that would be the long way around I certainly would be tempted to visit if I could afford it!
And ps. The winters here are BRUTAL.
Thank you so much Judith – I feel the same about you! And it is a short trip up here from Detroit if the time of day/traffic is right. Only thirty minutes or so from the airport. We have gone to some really fantastic restaurants this trip so if you do decide to make a day trip, please let me know and I will make suggestions. 🙂
I have yet to go to the Slurping Turtle but I can't wait!! You really found the best food places here :). I don't know what Aventura is – will need to check it out. My favorite restaurant in Arles was L'Autruche- very close to Rue des Marbriers- where we were staying in an airbnb place. If this interests you, I'd suggest checking out the Luminarium at the summer festival- I am going this Sunday and it sounds amazing. Enjoy your stay here! I accidentally wrote you the last comment from my work email so this time it's from a personal account :).
Oh……as far as European (or at least French) attitudes/responses towards Americans go?…..
My favorite anecdote concerns how (and this has been happening to me for YEARS now), at family gatherings and parties at Herve's parents' house in Tours, four or more people invariably say something about "Oh?…..the American Uncle!!!!"…..and everyone begans rocking with inexplicable laughter, including the actual niece and nephews (who are six, nine, and 11). Then, someone will repeat the "How lucky!….an American Uncle!!!!"….and they all start splitting their sides….again and again. As I said, this has gone on regularly for years.
The juicy-inside of this speciman of wry, Gallic wit has been explained to me by my mother-in-law, who has stopped laughing long enough to tell me "Oh…it is a FRENCH joke….everyone says 'American Uncle' because this means he is RICH!!!!! Ha-ha-ha!!!! It's very good joke, do you think?"….and I wonder "I guess…..but who's the joke ON?"
Herve later explained to me that it's rather a double-edged, snobby witticism; his family and their circles are all highly-educated, urban, & minimally haute-bourgeoisie, with a fair smattering of minor aristocracy and a large number of snooty-boots. The "RICH American Uncle" business is a distinctly provincial phenomenon (which does, after all, make sense; poor country families and villagers would, I assume, traditionally regard the relative who-went-off-to-America-to-make-his-fortune as "RICH!".). Essentially. the upper-class Tours circles are cultivating the sort of class-based humor that my Tennessee family could indulge in if they began imitating hillbilly twangs and mocking country beliefs (let me emphasize that we DON'T do that; my mother would have smacked any of us who began doing so).
So, the "Rich American Uncle" is essentially class-based mockery…..made all the more delicious, I assume, by everyone's being quite aware that David the Artist isn't the rich one in this marriage.
Nice manners, don't you think?…..
—-david terry