A Change in Plans is Not Always a Bad Thing

At least, this is what I tell myself. Today should have gone like this: wake up leisurely after having showered last night, enjoy breakfast, catch the 7:18 bus, make it to the Gare Routière (bus station) by 7:40, spend the whole day in Arles with my program, see the inspiration of Van Gogh's The Night Café and an old Roman amphitheater, return happily home by 6 pm. But since real life does not always proceed the way we feel it should, this is how it really went: woke up at 6:50 after only 5 hours of sleep, took a shower this morning, was told by my somewhat irritated host mother that I had made too much noise so early in the morning, ate breakfast at the bus stop, decided that I had missed the bus and so would walk to the stop of another line only to be passed by the very bus I needed, waited for the different bus that had a much longer and indirect route to the Gare Routière, ended up missing the bus to Arles by 5 minutes, learned that the next bus wasn't until 2 pm.

Stop.

At this point in the morning when I was wallowing in the self pity of a wasted day, I discovered that two other girls in my program had missed the bus as well. Although it didn't quite nullify my exclusion from Arles, we decided to enjoy ourselves the best we could. And what wonderful a day it turned out to be! While they returned home to shower and change, I wandered through the Saturday market at the Palais de Justice (courthouse). I was undeniably irritated when I entered the square, but there was something magical about the market that completely lightened my mood. Perhaps it was the sensation of walking past stalls of dried lavender and scented Savon de Marseille. Perhaps it was the new shirt I bought. Perhaps it was seeing someone I knew in public, making me all the more an inhabitant of Aix. Or it simply could have been that the narrow walkways were crowded with people in brightly colored outfits, fashionably shouting that the blacks and grays and plums of winter are finally over. It was there that I met Sam and Greta and we proceeded to buy items for our planned picnic at the Parc Jourdain.

Want to know what we had? A huge loaf of bread, uniquely shaped and still coated in flour. A baguette with olives baked in it. Salami. Tapenade made with sun-dried tomatoes, basil, salt, and olive oil. Yogurt. Clementines. Pears. A raspberry custard tart. A lemon almond tart. A chocolate Caribbean tart.

We sat there on the grass, surrounded by bags of food, simply talking and enjoying the nearly-forgotten warmth of the sun. It was perfect, this afternoon. Full of food and indolence, good company and pleasant surroundings.

When I finally had to leave to meet another group of friends for dinner, I was surprised to find a large mass of people standing on the sidewalk of the Cours Mirabeau. As I approached, I saw that there was a jazz band playing in front of the steps of a local store (basically the French equivalent of Target), surrounded by at least 50 spectators. They were incredible, and the blatant spring-ness in the air made their music all the more appealing. I wish I could have put more than one euro in their open guitar case but, after all, I have to live too!

Dinner was held at my friend Rezzi's villa. Yes, villa. She lives only 5 minutes away from me in a huge Provençal house with 12 other people. The villa has vines growing on the walls, a red-tiled roof, and a view of the surrounding country side unlike any other. In the afternoon, the sun falls onto the back porch in thick bands, warming everything for hours. I love it there. Today I was invited to a BBQ hosted by her housemates. We had grilled sausages and hamburgers and charcoal roasted Camembert topped with herbes de provences. The food was good, the conversation better, and I spent a thoroughly pleasant evening sitting and talking and eating.

Although Arles would have been amazing, I would not exchange it for this languid, initially ruined day. I would not choose it over the sunburn I've developed, the food I've eaten, and the people I've encountered. Sometimes a change in plans is really for the best.