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There were nearly two hundred of us waiting outside the gate. Everyone was talking quietly, giving bisous to those they hadn’t yet seen since Friday night. 

Monsieur le Maire, wearing his tricolor sash, was the first to enter the school courtyard where all of the students were lined up in rows. Some were tittering nervously but all remained still, in place, as members of our tiny village filed in slowly. All extraneous conversation fell away.

I was there with my friends Madame L and her fine companion W. I had written an email the night before asking if I could accompany them. Although I would have gone alone, I have been in a fragile state and thought it best to be surrounded by people who I could rely upon if need be. My friend C, the first “Americaine” of the village, crossed through the crowd. “I want to stand with you guys.” It felt really good to see her. She was clearly moved and I felt it echo through me as we hugged.

Shortly before noon, the mayor read a short speech about the importance of our coming together as a community and a nation, that we are here, standing united in the face of such barbaric acts. His hands were shaking slightly. I looked around and saw faces of all ages, from tiny babies to the advanced elderly, all listening, present. He spoke on, honoring lives lost.

Afterwords Madame F, the head of the school, explained what the faculty had done with the students that morning. She told us of the words that were presented and explained, words like Daesh (the acronym used in France for the so-called Islamic State), Syria, Belgium, terrorism, terrorist…and what it is to live in France, what is a democracy, what does the tenet of that mean. 

The mayor called for a minute of silence. I had gripped C’s hand at some point. I bowed my head and prayed…I tried to find the words…I have had such a hard time finding the words or even speaking at times over the past few days. When I failed I directed my heart towards the victims, their families, their friends and loved ones…and all who were touched directly and indirectly by this massacre. Which means, finally, all of us. 

The minute over, the bell of the town hall began to toll and one of the students ran to ring the school bell. We were thanked for coming and the group was beginning to disperse when someone started to sing “La Marseillaise.” Voices joined in, one after the other, singing quietly but with determination. I did too, while crying, when I could. As Remi wrote this weekend, we are all French right now.

When it was over, glances and nods were exchanged, a recognition. I fumbled for kleenex then my sunglasses and quickly put them on for this was not about me. This was and is about that feeling of solidarity, even amidst an extreme crisis, that I felt in the courtyard. 

I asked Madame F for permission to take a few photos of the drawings that the students had made in order to share them with you. C, who works at the school, had told me that some of the young ones had experienced difficulty in putting their feelings into images. But in words they wrote, “No to violence and yes to love”… “Not afraid”… “Grief”… “No to terrorists”…. and… “We will not pull back in the face of fear. Liberty, Hope, Paris.”

A beautiful young girl approached me just after I had photographed that last phrase. “Did you take one of that one? I did that!” Nine years old, ponytail swinging, eyes shining. I averted my gaze as I didn’t want to confuse her with my clinging tears. “Bravo, tu as bien fait,” I responded. You did good.

I don’t know where the events of November 13th are leading us or how any of it can be resolved any time soon. I fear we are headed into a war, I fear we will be torn apart. I fear, I fear but also, I love. And I am very grateful to have been present at a moment of resilience in the midst of such chaos.

May we find a way towards Peace and may our hearts remain strong.

Sending much Love to you all from France,

With my deepest condolences to all who have lost or been hurt by this tragedy,

Thank you to all who have sent emails and comments of concern,

H.

Founded in the 12th century, it’s rounded portal symbolizes the half-moon arc of man reaching up towards God and coming back down to Earth with God inside him, a reoccurring theme in Romanesque architecture.

The stones have been smoothed by so many supplicant hands. Bare heads of countless newborns have been dipped in the baptismal fonts.

I wonder if Les Baux’s warrior troubadours would kneel to absolve themselves after their far-reaching attacks during Medieval times, their swords scraping the steps as they did. Did they beg for forgiveness? Were they granted it? 

Vincent of Sargossa, a Spanish martyr from the fourth century is the patron saint. Legend says that ravens protected his body from the vultures after he had been burned alive on a gridiron. He is invoked by winemakers, brick-makers and sailors. Certainly, the first of those might call upon him today as Les Baux is surrounded by gently sloping hills dotted with vines. The same need for protection from nature’s whim – or man’s – remains. 

Despite the jewel-like tones of its glass stained windows (donated by Prince Rainier III of Monaco in 1955), a somber mood prevails. Perhaps peace is honored as the church itself seems to be wrapped in a shroud of melancholy, one that would flutter in ages past as the “Lanterne des Morts” was lit under the gargoyles watchful stare when one of the villagers had died.

 Dug partly out of the hillside, the anchored walls of St. Vincent hold in their veracity.

While the recent time change has truly thrown me for a loop – as it always does – I hold dear this part of the year in its slow exhale, with strands of reflection wrapped around my fingers, binding them into something steady even when whispered, like a prayer?

Faith is a curious number.

Thank you for all of your incredibly kind wishes for Ben. Have a wonderful weekend.

“Ben has soul.” Our dear friend Sonny has said this since the very first time that she met him.

And she is exactly right. He is incredibly special. There are times that I think he is an angel in a dogs disguise…

…albeit one with a very specific and unerring sense of humor.

His joie de vivre is off the charts! Remi has said that he can hear me laughing while playing with Ben everyday and that is true…

…but he also gives us both an enormous amount of comfort and peace…

…that is rooted in unending love.

It is amazing to think that he turns nine today. Of course it only seems like yesterday since we brought him home.

He has been through a lot of changes since then. This is his third home, we have moved from city to country and not to mention the boat-rocker that was the adoption of Kipling, to who he has been a loyal companion, one to inspire trust at every level…

…for that is his true specialty. He has convinced people that are petrified of dogs to give them another try and dogs that are petrified that nothing bad will happen in his fine company. 

I love his easy smile, liquid deep eyes and sly tail wag. You are such a charmer, Ben.

I tried to take an official portrait of him (see above) but he was too intent on napping in the afternoon sunshine to pose. Who am I to disrupt that? Most especially on a birthday…

Happily there is also this photo, taken on our morning walk today where he was proud to have found an extra big stick for the return trip. It is daily project that he takes rather seriously…

…and is one of the few “typical” aspects of this delightfully unique dog.

I love you, Bidou.

Happy Birthday mon Ben!

I will leave you with two of my very favorite Ben posts:

http://lostinarles.blogspot.fr/2012/07/dog-days-of-summer.html

and the classic

http://lostinarles.blogspot.fr/2012/01/bens-guide-to-getting-what-you-want.html

We see what we want to see; we tell ourselves the stories that comfort what we think we know.

I don’t take the beauty of Provence for granted. It can be wide and sweeping or minuscule and intimate. An endless variation of songs to light up the dance floor. And how I do love it when I am asked to dance.

But, but after ten years of living here, I can be a snob about certain things, as unattractive as that is to admit. 

For example, I don’t like crowds and feel foolish when caught in the midst of them in full on “ooh” mode.

Fanning women who have “A Year in Provence” poking out of their bag and agressive baseball cappers extending a selfie stick towards the sky make me grumpy.

See? Right on time. Snobby.

And certainly no place tends to prickle my skin more than Les Baux-de-Provence.

While I have a healthy respect for its fame, I see its potential and shake my head in dismay at the endless line of identical tourist shops lining the cobblestone streets, those selling fake savon du Marseille and polyester napkins imprinted with bees.

And yet, here we go, the entry to the humbling part…

…of course I wanted my Mom and her husband Leonard to see it while they were visiting in September. 

And they were enchanted.

So how could I not be? Wonder is delightfully contagious.

All of those veils of ideas, judgements and expectations fell away. The crowds pushed around me and yet it didn’t matter. Of course, they have the right to stop and point and rave.

By giving in, I found myself back in Les Baux, the one that I know to love in my heart, even when my head tells me otherwise. Stories silenced, vision cleared. In seeing it through the eyes of loved ones, I discovered it anew for myself, Provence plus one.

****

Eh oui, I seem to have written quite a few times about this enigmatic village (and I am not done yet as there will be a post on the main church there in the future). It is fun to look back at them now…especially in seeing how certain places have changed or not over time.

If you would like to understand the history of the village, click here.

Another shift in perspective, this time via a camera trick. To read, click here.

I love everything about this post (save that the photos are so small!): here.

And for my friends in the other hemisphere, you must believe in spring, so please click here.

Oh! And thank you all for your lovely responses on my previous post. For those of you that have been wondering, yes, Ellie arrived safely and is already making her new house a home…

Oh my goodness, I am so excited.

This will be a short post. I know, it is Halloween and many of you are most likely no where near your computers but rather are carving pumpkins, sneaking bonbons and crafting smoking cocktails, as you should be. Hopefully these slightly moody photos will fit the bill? But they actually are an antipode to what I am feeling…

…for today is a wonderful day – yes, yes, beyond the celebration of the spooky and unknown, which delights me to no end in itself – for you see, my friend Ellie is packing up the truck to leave Paris behind. 

She is moving down to Provence tomorrow.

To be slightly more precise, her new home will be at only about a fifteen minute drive away from ours!

Now, I have spoken in the past about the aspect that having lasting friendships as an expat has been a challenge for me. I don’t always gel well with my French counterparts and my fellow expatriates are often here for a few months and then gone for the rest of the year (which is doable but challenging). So, this arrival is something of a great gift, yes, full of the good stuff. 

But honestly, this is not about me in the least. That is just the candy corn on the cake.

I think that quite a few of you read Ellie’s wonderful blog, Have Some Decorum and I smile to see some of your names in the comments section. For those of you who don’t know who she is, well, I invite you to go and find out. As I have mentioned before, she is a fellow American, my age, beautiful beyond belief and happens to be in her fifth year of having ALS, although it doesn’t define her – if anything, she is in the process of redefining – or trying to – this terrible disease. 

For at least a year now, Ellie has had it her head that she needs to move to Provence. Now, who doesn’t want to live in Provence, you might ask but this was no simple proposal. Her French husbands work is based out of Paris (not exactly a shabby city in itself) and that is where her daughter goes to university. And yet she knew that for the best of her well-being that she had to live in the sun. 

Sun is something that we have here in Provence in spades and frankly often goes missing in Paree for five months out of the year. But the South of France also offers the possibility to change pace, to slow down, to connect with history and be surrounded by nature of the pinch me variety every single day. To have a view.

All of this was brewing in her mind far before I met Ellie in person. Those of you that have been reading here for a while know the tale: my wonderful friend, La Contessa, sent me the money (in cash!) so that I could take the train up just before Ellie’s birthday. She later admitted that she was doing this as much as for my own good as Ellie’s. Seriously, that woman is a living Fairy Godmother. Our meeting was…beyond wonderful. It was one of those moments that touched me deeply and shifted my perspective radically.

So when Ellie first announced her serious intentions to move down here, I was on it. We both spent hours, days, trolling through all of the internet ads we could find, looking for possibilities. And there were several. But one after one, they never panned out, for whatever reason. It was incredibly disheartening yet Ellie never gave up. She was determined. Slowly, she convinced her husband and daughter. And then, just then, the perfect house turned up. 

For me, the most amazing news is that it has an annex and so her caregivers are coming down with her. They are truly wonderful men who do so much and have so many talents. I admire them enormously. They will provide for a perfect transition and keep her “empire” expanding, right on schedule.

I wrote in an email the other day that Ellie will be the Queen of Provence in no time and I believe it. With her intelligence, vitality and verve – as well as her stellar taste in everything – who couldn’t fall under her charm? Not to mention that the brocante dealers will need to be put on alert, as there is a new, ruthless buyer/seller in town. No details are left unturned by this phenomenal woman.

I feel really fortunate. But I also know deep in my heart that being here will help to only strengthen her truly indomitable spirit. I have wanted this so badly for her and now, it is happening.

If you are of the type to send out good thoughts or pray, would you join me in sending some to Ellie et al. so that the move goes swimmingly? I know it will but a little extra push would be lovely.

I can’t wait to see what she will write on this new page in her life.

Brava, Ellie. Here is to moving forward. Don’t worry about the freaky mushroom below, I have never seen one like it in Provence! Good times await, trust me. 

To read Ellie’s blog, click here.

And if you are already fretting about Thanksgiving, then by all means save yourself some worries, click here.

What? Oh, you really want Halloween madness? All right, of course, I don’t blame you. 

I can’t do better than this: http://lostinarles.blogspot.fr/2014/10/a-ghost-story.html

Except for this bit of sweetness too: http://lostinarles.blogspot.fr/2012/10/calling-all-saints.html

Happy Halloween and All Saint’s Day…

With all of my very Best from Provence,

Heather