Luna Park

As an adult (or at least on the way to being one), I can’t figure it out. I can recall, however, that as a child, my parents couldn’t understand it either. But for some strange reason, every kid who comes to Camarat refuses to leave without spending a night at the rundown, overwhelmingly loud, crowded amusement park full of ancient rides too dangerous to pass U.S. safety standards. And yet, as I arrived with Ludo and the kids, I couldn’t help but to smile. Luna Park is like a treasure chest of childhood memories.



For the kids, the first ride of the evening was Ludo putting the SUV in four-wheel drive and speeding across the rugged parking lot. It doesn’t take much to please children already on their way to an amusement park, however shitty that park may be.



We walked around the trashy grounds, the children filled with inexplicable joy. They sampled this ride and that and as we watched, Ludo and I recalled our days as children riding the same ride (and with Ludo being nearly 50, you can imagine how old that makes the park). I couldn’t resist laughing out loud. I remember romping through this funhouse as a child and running full force into a mirror while my brother rolled around next to me, hysterical with laughter. I left with a bloody limp and a large bump on my forehead.



Suddenly I was overwhelmed with a feeling that surprised me. As I stared nostalgically at the haunted house Alex and I once adored, I felt disgustingly old. I know my youth is not over, but I will never be a kid again; I am nearer to becoming my parents than being a silly little girl running around an amusement park. For there was Ludo and I, holding bags, carrying jackets, guarding tickets, walking far enough behind to give them space but close enough to keep a protective eye – and to remain in reach of all their childish demands, just as my father had done. “Can I have money for a pomme d’amour (caramel apples)?!” “I want a prize! Will you help me play the game?” “While the boys ride this one can we go here?!”



It amazes me; I have become a babysitter – something I had previously done only once in my entire life – for Sidone and her friend Elizabeth, the daughter of Patricia’s friends. It’s been surprisingly nice. I’m too young for them to consider boring but too old for them not to respect. I’m too young so that I understand their desire for freedom and avoid being overprotective, but I’m too old to let them do stupid things. I’m close enough to 14 that I remember, but far enough that I have more wisdom.

And, like our parents before us, the adult companions tagged along grudgedly, watching our watches closely, anxiously awaiting the opportunity to announce the last ride. Ludo was miserable. But at least he had company!

When the time finally came to enjoy the final attraction of the evening, Ludo turned to me and said in his thick, French accent, "We make the river!" I smiled. If he had said that to me three months ago when I first arrived in France, I would have had no idea what he was trying to say. But now, after being exposed to the French language and learning how conversation here works, I simply gathered up the girls and headed to the log ride. "On fait la rivière!"

Now the night is drawing to a perfect conclusion. Ludo and I sat at the view watching one of the most amazing sights I have ever seen: safely perched upon our mountain without thunder or rain, five, six, seven – too many to count – lightening storms raged across the world below. Everywhere we looked another gnarled spider-web of electricity climbed towards the charcoal clouds; there was so much lightening on all sides of us that we had no need for our own light. We could see as clear as dusk. Smoking the last cigarette of the day, we watched the weather below. But as the lightening grew closer, as the thunder grew audible, as the rain crept up the side of the mountain, we realized we couldn’t sit out forever as much as we would have liked to. There were things to do – the laundry was still on the line, the doors were open, laptops and other electronics are plugged in dangerously close to windows (and one guest of Chez Michel has already watched his precious computer transform into a ball of fire during an electrically storm).

Shit. Huge crack of lightening simultaneous with the loudest pop of thunder I’ve ever heard. Tequila’s freaking out. We’re in for one hell of a night…