Observing French village life

It’s somewhere around 9 a.m. I’m waiting for the bus in this cute little town I stranded in, Abriès. The bus is due to arrive at 10.05, but I left the Rèfuge early so I wouldn’t stand in the way of the daily cleaning expedition. And so I have an hour to watch the town come to life, TobyMac’s groovy Lose my Soul playing through my earphones.

It seems to me this town couldn’t be more French. People sit outside on the terrace this early to have breakfast at their favorite café. The sun shines like it needs to prove that summer is indeed here to stay and the sound of restaurant dishes mingles with the soft clatter of the fountain in the background. Straw men have been set up in various positions across town, I’m assuming for the handicraft festival that takes place here tomorrow (sad, I’ll just miss it, while I love handicrafting). A man walks by with a baguette tucked under his arm. Meanwhile, the sports shopkeeper who sold me a knee strap yesterday enters one of the little shops across the street wearing his blue mask and comes out carrying a new book. A few minutes later, an elderly couple walks by, the man pushing a wheelbarrow, the woman carrying two old-fashioned bags. The man digs into his bag and hands the woman a face mask. They part ways, each off to run their own errands.

The whole scene is just so peaceful. It makes me wish I could live in a village like this one. Waking up to magnificent mountain views every morning, having coffee at my usual spot where they know my standard order, greeting every person I pass because I know them. Who knows, perhaps organize another festival in this small but undoubtedly tight-knit community, decorating the town with some other creative project than straw men.

It seems like such a simple, such a relaxing life. I wonder if I would miss the busy life I have now. Don’t get me wrong: I love my life. Learning new things about biology (soon to be ethics) every day, meeting my friends in Leiden or elsewhere, being an active member of my student association… In addition, I do aspire to working a job that is perhaps a little more meaningful than tending a shop in a little touristic town; maybe be an ethicist in the hospital or with a company. But I wonder. I think I could be happy either way, tending a shop here or living my Dutch life. The question is: is being happy the goal our actions should be aiming for?

And so my mind wanders as I observe French village life. In the meantime, the man with the wheelbarrow has returned and is taking off his mask. The wheelbarrow is now filled with two boxes of peaches. What a hilarious way of transporting groceries! This is something you would never see in Dutch society, whether a village or not. Maybe I should try doing groceries with a wheelbarrow sometime; bring a little of French village life with me to the Netherlands 😉

Adjusting your plans sucks

They say you never know what you’ve got till it’s gone.

As I am writing this, I can still feel the remainder of a tear in the corner of my eye. I’m sitting on a park bench next to a tiny, beautiful French chapel, looking out over the village of Abriès in the early morning light. I am alone. Most importantly: I’m sitting here unwillingly.

This is not where I am supposed to be. I’m supposed to be about a mile down the path, hiking up to the Col du Malrif with my family. Unfortunately, I am unable to do so because my right knee hurts like hell with every step I take. Turns out that yesterday’s route was just a little long and ignoring my knee for the last hour was not the greatest idea. I was hoping the pain would vanish overnight, but today’s first 20 minutes made it painfully clear that there’s more to it than that.

And so I am now stranded here, gathering up the courage to return the way I came and ask to stay the night at the Gîte where we slept last night. The plan is to take the bus tomorrow to the next Rèfuge, where I will meet my dad and two sisters as they finish that day’s tour. There are two days left to walk to the car after that; we’ll have to see how my knee is doing by then to decide whether I can make it.

Right now, I feel sad, a little disappointed in myself (though I realize that I can’t help having a knee injury) and frustrated. But also, surprisingly, a little excited at the thought of traveling on my own. I’ve never been abroad by myself, let alone in a country where half the population refuses to speak English. This should be interesting.

Well. I’ll try not to wallow in self-pity too much today, but instead look at the bright side: I have more time (too much time) to read my books and send a postcard. I guess we all are unfortunate sometimes and just have to learn how to deal with it. Let’s see how I handle this!