Happiness is in the South of France

This is a magical place. But I’ve come to realize, maybe I see more magic here than most – because of my history here, my memories, my family, my adventures. Regardless, as the holiday of Americans begins and my adventures come to a close, I’ve grown a bit depressed. I’m losing my spark. I don’t feel as free or as adventures; I am no longer an explorer mapping out a journey of self-discovery, I am simply a little girl on vacation with family. And as this transformation progresses, I realize that I may never be this happy again. It was a passionate love affair with life. This was my dream. I learned more about myself and my family than I ever could have imagined. I had so much fun. And when I return to the States, or even if I come back here and get a “real job” and enter adulthood, I will never have this again. I will never meet Ludo or Sylvia for the first time again. I will never bum around this house, feasting only on a childhood dream of writing. I will never make these ridiculous mistakes or fumble through French or adopt a dog for the first time or anything. After this I’ll know these things, I’ll understand more of the culture and language, I’ll already have been responsible for myself and my dog. This set of firsts is over and I’m sad to see it go.

I’m too young to grow up.

And I’m too passionate about this place to imagine life like this somewhere else. I received an email from Martine in response to my Africa story and he said,

“How are you handling France? Are you still in Camarat? I do wish you are still there, you enjoyed it so well. You’re love for life there made me believe again in the tiny things of life. Thank you for lighting up my world.”

I thought I was going to cry. But he was right – I am so happy here, so content in this part of the world, so excited about my adventures here that I just emanate joy. I laugh all the time. And I can attribute this wondrous feeling only to being swallowed by this magical place.

Yesterday I climbed onto my scooter to go to L’Esquinade wearing naught but a whimsical pereo and bikini top. I went barefoot; my only safety precaution the turtlehead helmet that perfectly matches my Peugeot scooter. And as I revved up the engine, a big fluffy white dog loyally waiting by my side, Patty (Sarah’s friend & guest) said to me, “wow, you look so French.” I couldn’t imagine a better compliment.

I can’t explain it. It’s so amazing here to me that I want to wrap myself up like it’s a big fluffy blanket I can lose myself in. Here, like hiding under the sheets, I am safe in my ignorance from the rest of the world. But morning will come, the dream will end, and I will have to crawl out of bed and back into the real world, start life again within the terrible constraints of reality. I cannot explain this place. Pictures and words can never do it justice. It’s a feeling; a place where living life is everyone’s first priority.

Like Patty said, “Only here must you drive through the vineyards to get to the beach.”