Aixample

About time I added another Aix pun.

After Carcassonne, I led my Mom back to my home away from home, Aix-en-Provence. A home. In France. I have to remind myself constantly that I'm still here. I almost take it for granted. That I live in France. That the signs are in French. That the streets don't all have cars, nor even logical sense. That they twist and turn.

My Mom was not familiar with Aix though. She got to thoroughly enjoy its marvels, its numerous fountains, its open air markets, its macaroons. And me, I always enjoy them, though the vicarious addition of her enjoyment didn't hurt.

On Tuesday (now April 19) we ate dinner at my homestay. IT WAS BIZARRE. My Mom doesn't speak French, pas du tout. So the entire conversation was in English. I talked to my host Mom in English for the first time. Charles, my host brother, was unusually silent. The same host brother who talks a mile a minute. The same host brother who parades around proclaiming "I am Charles" in his 12-year-old garçon français accent. And my host family didn't understand the term "on vacation" even though that translates directly ("en vacances" in French). I had to translate to British English for my Mom; everyone was "on holiday" obviously. Such a surreal supper.

Dam near Saint Victoire

On Wednesday, we hiked part of Mount Saint Victoire. It's changed since my last visit. A little greener, and bees (who happily mind their own business) everywhere. More flowers. More sun. More heat. More sweat. We returned to Aix and sat down at a café, treating ourselves to Kirs (white wine with berry-flavored - typically cassis - liquor). As the sun set, we headed to a French restaurant for delicious dinner.

Thursday, my Mom's last full day in France. I showed her the open air markets, and introduced her to the colorful Macaroons, which she loved (both the markets and the candy). This also turned out to be the day of Aix's allergy attack, as apparently I am allergic to the plane trees (think sycamores) that line the streets here, and they picked Thursday to shower me with pollen.

While wandering the Aix markets, my pointed out a guy munching on matzah. I had earlier searched Aix high and low for matzah, but failed to find any. Feeling guilty about the resulting complete lack of attention paid to Passover, I plucked up my courage and asked him where he had purchased his. After struggling briefly with his pronunciation of the word "far away", we entered into a brief conversation, during which he gave my Mom and I a large piece of matzah, and talked about his relative living in Manhattan, and, in the end, offered to give us a heaping boxful if I couldn't find any in the local walmart-reminiscent store, Monoprix. Well, neither my Mom nor I actually wanted the responsibility of lugging this around, so I graciously thanked him, and pretended to walk towards Monoprix. Then I slipped behind another market stall and snuck back past him.

So yes, I had a wonderful time with my Mom in France. There were but a few showers in the hours prior to her arrival, and predominantly sunny skies after. Not a drop of moisture from the heavens, as if France itself was welcoming my Mom. But we had to part ways, she for her hotel by the airport (and her 6 something o'clock flight), and me for my flight...to Italy. Italie. Italia.